Replacement
by Aliathe
Summary: Kind Yuni was favored over apathetic Fran. Now? Yuni's gone. So? Fran's Boss. And the fate of the world is rewritten. [au] [fem!fran] (revised: Chap. 1, 2, 3, 4, 11, 14, 16, 24, 28, 29.) [dead!fic]
1. Preparation

**Summary: **

_Fran's not blind, and Fran's not deaf; she can tell she's only a replacement. Yuni was the trusting, benevolent "Aria's daughter". Fran was the suspicious, bitter "spitting image of that-guy-who-married-Aria". She's even born with the "wrong" Flame; a strong primary Mist and a weak secondary Sky. But now that Yuni's vanished, Fran's the (grudging) Giglio Nero Boss. Byakuran's intrigued by a Fran who differs so drastically from her parallel selves. Meanwhile, Yuni being gone has a greater significance than any of them realize._

**Disclaimer:**

_KHR! rights go to Akira Amano._

_The cover picture may or may not be mine, depending on which one I'm using. I tend to switch frequently. In case it isn't mine, then this is a general disclaimer for that. So, yeah. Don't sue me, please._

**Note:**

_/insert words here/ are thoughts._

_Assume__ that they are speaking Italian unless otherwise stated or implied. Fran is canon-ly French, so her father here is French, and she is fluent in it. When stressed and cursing, whether out loud or mentally, she has a tendency to slip and slide back into French. __So, congratulation, you will probably be picking up an assortment of French profanity. _

* * *

_~In front of the Giglio Nero Headquarters are neatly arranged rows of flowerbeds. The now deceased Aria of the Giglio Nero was often spotted lovingly tending the sprouts by hand. She was, most unfortunately, severely allergic to pollen, and was also often spotted arguing with her second-in-command, Gamma, about her health issues. To be exact, about whether or not they were enough of an actual issue to warrant her staying inside. Gamma did not win many arguments with Aria._

_Borage__ is a pretty flower in shades of blue, and is often called by it's moniker of 'starflower'. Used as medicine, and sometimes adorning salads, borage is a useful herb as well._

_It can be analyzed to mean **courage** and/or **bluntness**.~_

* * *

"But anyway, a choice like that's no real choice at all." - Fran

* * *

Firm, steady fingers flutter and skim over a slim pale-skinned body, seemingly haphazard in their blur of draped fabrics.

Hands pull out, prick in, position primly, pose poised, and occasionally give the perfunctory pinch.

The girl serving as the 'dress-up model' bears it all stoically, only flinching with a minuscule wince when one of the more persistent maids accidentally jabs her too hard with a dress-pin, breaking skin.

A perfectly rounded bead of blood wells up, glistening a startlingly bright red.

(Rapidly squeaking apologies, the obviously new maid is quickly shushed by one of her seniors, and subsequently shooed away to help elsewhere.

"Decima dislikes excessive chatter or noise; why do you think we were working so silently? Oh, go help in the training arena or something! Tsk, they just get more inexperienced and more incompetent..."

Turning back to the impassive teen, the older maid wordlessly draws forth a pristine cotton handkerchief, carefully wiping her shoulder clean of crimson droplets.

Slightly inclining her head, she acknowledges the gesture, and the maid returns to work, spraying a fine haze of fast-acting stiffener onto the elegantly arrayed folds of her white cloak, making sure to use a brush for applying the layer of stiffener to the collar.

It isn't exactly thanks; it is already expected of her, anyway.

That's okay. The maid knows if she were looking for thanks, then she's in the wrong place.

Or maybe, the right place in the wrong time?

Before the girl's time, anyway.)

A blond man paces back and forth in front of her, worrying a well-worn groove into the carpeting, and looking as if he is resisting the urge to gnaw nervously at the insides of his cheeks.

His hands are clasped behind his finely tailored black suit, with a rigid miltary-esque posture that his smoke-grey eyes, murky in deep thought and hesitance, didn't fit.

Making up his mind, he abruptly stops in front of the berobed figure, swiveling sharply on the heel of his polished dress shoes (opera pumps, if you must be precise) to squarely face her, eye to eye.

Well, eye to empty air, if he didn't look down to compensate for the height difference.

"Are you _absolutely sure_ about agreeing to this meeting, Decima? Gesso doesn't have a very good reputation about it, and we'd be walking straight into prime Gesso territory for the talk; there's a great chance that we'll be walking straight into a trap, or an ambush. They took over the Carcassa and Macchina Famiglias just last month, after the Difo, Beccio, Todd, and Pesca all _mysteriously_ disappeared near Gesso-frequented areas," he cautioned, tone grave.

She scoffs.

A hand reaches up to adjust her tasseled and predominantly white hat.

(Embossed with the Giglio Nero Famiglia symbol of five golden circles, connected by spindly golden lines, proudly bearing a lapis-lazuli star on the topmost circle: the traditional sign of the Heiress or Boss of the Giglio Nero Famiglia.

... Mafia Famiglias are very big on tradition, even if it means their Heiress or Boss will forever be associated with ridiculously poofy white mushrooms.

Aria has resolutely refused to wear the "flipping huge gigantic flipping mushroom on my flipping head".

{Aria is known for being significantly more ... relaxed and informal than the previous Bosses before her, as shown by her self-imposed uniform of red and black, rather than white and gold and lapis lazuli blue.}

Except, y'know, she doesn't really say 'flipping', because this is all before she has children running around, and thus has to develop a mental filter for profanity.

A mental filter that she impresses the importance of upon everyone else in Headquarters who might have come in contact with her precious offspring.)

Her other hand delicately tucks a stray curl of teal hair behind her left ear, smoothing it out. "Well, now, I wasn't exactly aware that I had a fucking choice in this decision. After all, I'm just the _replacement_ for the _actual_ Giglio Nero Boss, now aren't I, Gamma?"

Blond-haired and grey-eyed Gamma frowns slightly upon hearing her dryly sardonic words, his fingers clenching inward reflexively, before intentionally slackening back to their former stance.

/_This is bad._ _She never curses or shows emotion so visibly unless she's really stressed. Or angry. I suppose I should count myself lucky she at least trusts me enough to do that in my presence. It sounds like this is something she's been waiting to say for a while, too..._/

On the outside, he hurries to placate her, phrasing his words as carefully as he would phrase a legally binding contract.

"Of _course_ you're the actual Giglio Nero Boss; you're the eldest, first-born, and very proficient in the Giglio Nero's trademark Clairvoyance trait. You most definitely have a choice, Decima. You can always refuse to meet with the Gesso, and instead pursue other, less risky alliances."

A cynical burst of semi-hysterical laughter is coughed out; she tugs her collar up sharply, at the same time her lips tug sharply down.

"That's right; that's all I'm good for, the fucking 'Clairvoyance'. Don't think that I didn't notice you never refuted my claim of being simply a 'replacement'. We all know you loved my mother and preferred Yuni over me, no need to deny it for propriety's sake. To be frank, I don't blame you much. I remind everyone far too much of Aria's husband, huh? 'Spitting image', they say, like it's a good thing. Even inherited his Mist Flames with Aria's Sky as my secondary! And no matter how _hard_ I practice and _master_ my Mist, they don't give a flying fuck. _No_, it _just_ comes down to my mediocre _Sky_ that I can barely call up at will! Just a fucking _failure_, a fucking _back-up_," she hisses out viciously, curling her fingers into a claw, digging into the flesh of her pale and trembling palm, leaving behind marks of half-moon circles.

Taking a deep breath and exhaling, she closes her eyes and calms, loosens her hands, and continues her tirade with eerie stillness speaking of equal despair and desperation.

"But anyway, a choice like that's no real choice at all. I can tell that that bastard Genkishi's lying outta his fucking traitorous mouth, but with no proof, what can I do? Exile him straightaway on suspicion? Too risky; he knows too much, and everyone will doubt my reign even more. At this rate, the Giglio Nero will dwindle to _nothing_, especially with the Sky Pacifier's unknown whereabouts. All I _can_ do is meet with the Gesso's Boss and pray for an at least _somewhat_ mutually beneficial agreement, along with minimum repercussions, and to find out _why_ Genkishi wants that meeting held to badly.

"My Clairvoyance tells me horrible events could come from my meeting, but it also tells me that the Giglio Nero will be utterly decimated and then absorbed into the Gesso by force if I _don't_ have the meeting. So tell me, Gamma, tell me honestly as my supposedly loyal bodyguard and automatic second-in-command; how in the nine _hells_ is that shitty choice a choice at fucking _all?_"

Suddenly darting out a hand, her left fingers enclose around an empty glass on the table to her right.

Twisting it up into the air with a flick, she deftly catches it by the rim with her index and middle finger, pulling back before hurling it at the wall with all her strength.

The glass shatters and falls, limply, to the floor.

Silent, the maids descend upon the unmoving pieces, a flock of mute ghosts flapping crisply ironed sleeves and straight-plucked brooms, circling and picking swiftly at the glittering dust beneath them.

(A slight dent in the wall is quickly covered up with a thin film of Mist Flames, easily conjured with a blink and a breath.)

Gamma stands there, at a loss of how to proceed, as the only remnant he has left of his love crumples down, on the floor, waving away the lingering helpers, shudders wracking her shakingly frail shoulders.

/_AriaAriaAriaAriaAriaAria-_/

Feeling very, very old all of a sudden, the blond can only stare uselessly at the girl on the floor, and note how very, very young she looks at that moment.

Young and vulnerable and totally unfit to lead the Giglio Nero, no matter her birthright.

No matter her claim, no matter her _blood_.

Then she straightens, wipes away tear stains mechanically with another handkerchief proffered by one of the countless maids hovering nearby, and dispassions her face with surgical precision, eradicating any trace of weakness.

Cold, cold eyes look directly ahead of her into nothingness, and she dismisses the maids with a jerk of her chin.

They take the cue and leave, filing neatly through the entrance to the tangle of servants-exclusive hidden paths that wind themselves among the Giglio Nero Headquarters, as silent as ever.

Yes, mute ghosts indeed.

Speak not of the happenings witnessed here; offer not of the comfort required here.

Ghosts are seen, they do not speak, they do not hear, they do not touch and sympathize.

That way lies nothing good, nothing safe, nothing worth it for them.

(Many Mafia Famiglias used to cut out the tongues of their 'help', or blind their eyes, to ensure that no Famiglia secrets were leaked through spies.

If you were smarter, or more paranoid, you cut out their tongues _and_ blinded their eyes.

Really, these maids are rather lucky, and they aren't willing to endanger their position by possibly offending the Donna.

{No one's been fired or killed yet. The Giglio Nero Bosses have a reputation for being much more lenient and understanding, as in, if they can't convert you with the power of love and peace and hope and friendship, they wipe your mind and leave you in a ditch.

If they were particularly fond of you, you got a private hospital for amnesia and a minor trust fund for your eventual release.

Still, it's a group effort for the experienced help corral away the newbies, just in case.}

She might be younger than several of them, but it's an open secret at HQ that their Decima is a talented Mist, and everyone who's sane in the Mafia knows to fear talented Mists, or Mists in general.

Except for Mists themselves.

Then again, it's pretty much universally acknowledged that the not-sane Mafiosi are more likely than not to be Mists.)

Black boots with golden laces tap their way authoritatively to the door, their wearer drawing an aura of power and control around herself, curling tightly in it's comforting, supportive embrace.

Fran half-turns at the open entrance to glance expectantly at Gamma.

"Well? Will you accompany your boss to her very important meeting?" A sardonic flicker of a smirk slides across her features, before vanishing into inscrutable deadness.

(/_Just like how precious, bright little Yuni vanished into thin air,_/ Gamma thinks wretchedly.)

Her words, cool and clipped and clean, are a far cry from her earlier diatribe.

He bows his head and makes to follow, tone soft and subservient.

"My apologies, Giglio Nero Decima."

/_AriaAriaAriaYuniAriaYuniAria**Fran-**_/

The door closes behind them, and the empty room is quiet.

_Click._

* * *

Frances Brume is not a very good person.

She understands this pretty early on, as soon as she's 5, and an epiphany strikes her: she has no qualms making others cry if it means getting what she wants.

Nonetheless, she doesn't necessarily consider herself a very _bad_ person, either.

She doesn't take any joy out of inflicting pain, and it's not like she intentionally _meant_ to hurt others.

(They are just in the way.)

Emotions and morals simply seem to be such a … _gray_ area to her.

So much open for interpretation, for twisting and tugging and yielding.

They come naturally to her _perfectlovingbeautiful__**favored**_ sorellina (younger sister), who can instinctively tell what is considered socially acceptable and thus **right**, and what is considered socially unacceptable and thus **wrong**.

(And she always does the **right** thing, never the **wrong** thing.

Fran always seems to do the **wrong** thing, no matter what it is she does.)

Meanwhile, Fran _exists_.

She lives everyday in an apathetic haze, and since she doesn't really _like_ many things back then, it is impossible for her to really _hate_ too much.

("Hate cannot exist without the capacity to love first, for love and hate are interconnected. If you truly could never love someone, you would only feel indifference." - Anonymous)

And that will be what she describes herself as, in one, neat summation.

_Indifferent_.

(Hate is so tiring and tedious, anyway. Hate is reserved for those she considers worth the trouble of hating. And it takes a special kind of regard, of respect, to find someone worth it.)

It doesn't matter to her if other kids are hurt when she does something she wants to do.

Why should it?

They don't get out of the way, they're forced out of the way.

(Maybe it's unfair, but justice is an ideal, like true love, and both are held up on a shining pedestal that doesn't exist.)

It doesn't affect _her_, and she gets what she wants.

She can't understand what everyone labeles as 'guilt' and 'joy' and 'apologetic'.

... Well, okay, so that isn't entirely true.

Fran has feelings, everyone has feelings, she knows what they are, she's anything but an idiot, and the concept of social gestures and cues weren't completely alien, and the concepts her young and malleable mind see performed everyday aren't difficult to pick up.

She understands _when_ she should do certain things, because they are expected.

She doesn't get _why_ she has to do those things, like express 'regrets' for a stranger's relative's death.

(They're dead.

So _what?_

_I _never knew them.

'Why do I say I offer my regrets when I have none to offer?'

'Isn't that a lie, Maman {mother}?'

'Aren't lies bad?'

'What do you mean that being honest isn't always good?'

'... What do you mean by '_tact_'_?_')

_She just **didn't** get **why**._

So she chooses to not use these cumbersome 'feelings' very much, these 'feelings' that_ take_ and never appear to _give_.

At most, the ones she are accustomed to dealing with on a casual basis are the mild, watered-down ones she can handle easily, like being 'annoyed', 'content', 'pleased', 'fond', 'disgruntled', 'irritated', 'tired'.

Aria says she's "a very advanced child for your age, Francy-sweets. Mamma will always love you, okay? Do you want some more of those guava candies you like?"

(And it's at time like these that Fran truly grasps how _different_ she is from others; if all she feels is a sense of 'sure-why-not' compliance and distant fondness when the woman who gave _life_ to her proclaims her affection, than is she really _okay?__)_

She isn't blind, deaf, or stupid, after all.

She knows very well what the Giglio Neros whisper about her when they think her mother and sister to be out of earshot.

(Oh, they don't bother with making sure _she_ is out of earshot, too. _She i_s clearly not worth their notice, their caution; at least, initially.

[Admittedly, once she is instated as Decima, Fran takes great personal satisfaction in having her presence become something most _definitely_ worth their notice and caution; _demanding_ of their notice and caution, even, although the quirks of fate landing her as Decima are not ones that please her, or ones she take pride in.

_Anyone_ can get lucky.

She doesn't want to be _anyone_.])

"Strange child … bullies the others and doesn't bat an eyelash when they come running with bruises and accusations of stealing, like butter wouldn't melt in her mouth."

"Honestly, I have no idea how that … _girl_ could share blood with Aria-sama and Yuni-chan. They're so adorable and innocent and _kind_ and she's just … _staring_ with that gaze of hers, that gaze that rips you apart to the bone."

"Not even a proper Sky at all; that one's a Mist first and a some wisps of Sky second. Never going to be leader, no question about it."

"It's blindingly obvious that she takes after her father, looks and Flames and all. Frankly, I haven't the faintest clue where she got that abrasive attitude of hers, though; mutation, maybe?"

And **_dieu_** [god] it _fucking hurts_.

They have _no fucking idea how much it fucking hurts_.

Her supposed 'family' reject and scorn her, estranging themselves,

-in her (relatively) pure early stages when she wants to prove herself,

-in her resentful later stages when she bitterly curls tightly in like a spring ready to _snap_,

-in her current apathetic stage when it's all she can do to muster up the will to continue finding a reason for the Giglio Nero merit any saving.

(Not physical abuse, not purposeful verbal abuse; just knowing isolation, unknowing emotional neglect, careful avoidance.

It can be much worse, Fran tells herself pragmatically.

[Never let it be said Fran isn't pragmatic to the core.]

_It **should** be much **better**._)

Even with her childhood lack of compulsive knowledge on how to react and retaliate, before she forges her smooth shield of sharp looks and scathing comments and suspicious thoughts, she knows there is something wrong with being left behind to stare with empty_longing**wanting**_ eyes while Aria and everyone else encircle Yuni, the _true_ heiress, the _true_ Sky.

(And the part she dislikes most, is she can't even dislike Aria and Yuni, because she knows Aria doesn't mean to split her time so unevenly, she knows Yuni tries to make her feel belonging, she knows Aria loves her and Yuni loves her and they are genuinely nice caring loving people and _she doesn't know to to respond to that._

Why can't she just dislike them, have them dislike her back, and be comfortable and secure with a definite two-way dislike?

Because dislike, even hatred, is easier to execute than reciprocating love.)

Because _yes,_ she is _not _stupid, _not_ stupid at_ all._

Fran goes and thoroughly researches the mafia as soon as she learns she's a Donna's daughter.

(At age 5, asking her mother a clear-cut question, and getting anything but a clear-cut answer in return. It is quite easy to tell, however, after a few more months of patient research, careful observations, and quietly taping together the glaring evidence.

At age 6, asking her mother a clear-cut question, and startling an unintentional answer out in return.

"Are we part of the Mafia?"

"W-what!? Who told you that, Francy-sweets!?"

"Well, the Giglio Nero are definitely an organization, it's highly probable that we were part of a crime syndicate, and since we're in Italy, being yakuza is ruled out. So, Mafia?"

A calculated pause.

"Oh, and I heard Gamma cursing about a gunshot wound."

Aria immediately surges to her feet, roaring with righteous female fury.

"GAMMA! WHAT HAVE I SAID ABOUT CURSING IN FRONT OF THE CHILDREN!?"

Fran glances with clinical curiosity at the scene of her mother storming into the hallways to track down the target of her ire.

"That's a yes ... ?"

Yuni peeks around the side of the doorway, glossy black hair popping up.

"Why's Mamma [mother] mad, sorella [sister]?"

Fran waves dismissively, already plotting to slip into the Giglio Nero library for further studies.

"UST, no need to sorry."

"What's that?"

"A dire psychological illness I read in a book somewhere, originating from a lack of sugar, relaxation, free time, and a mental frustration within oneself. I advise you ask Maman later for more information; of course, I never told you this. Nosaru told you this, okay?"

"Oh, okay!"

Yuni, Fran decides, is far too gullible and accepting.

Or far too good at _pretending_ to be gullible and accepting.

She also appears to be capable of generating sparkles and flowers and sunshine and happiness at whim.

Hmm, that may warrant some advanced scrutiny...

After the Mafia thing.)

Therefore, she knows how dark and ugly the _stark_ the Underground can be.

She can _handle_ how dark and ugly and _stark_ the Underground can be.

She always expects to have to shoulder that part out of familial obligation. For even if Yuni _is_ picked as Boss, as everyone knows she _will_, then Yuni will _break_ and she'll _fall_.

Yuni is too innocent_pure__**naive**_ to handle it.

It is just another one of Fran's cold, hard, analytic facts she accepts as part of life.

And that is that.

Fran is a cold-hearted bitch, some say (and not without a somewhat-justified reason to say so), but she is a _smart_ cold-hearted bitch with a viewpoint unclouded by sentiment and those complicated societal obligations and-

horror of horrendous horrific horrifying horrible horrid horrors-

'feelings'.

(_Even if something stirs deep inside of her when she's faced with deciding to let the Giglio Nero flounder and perish or buy some more time, something stirring and swaying and stopping her from walking out the door with indifference to the plight of her forsaken Famiglia. _

_Something that whispers to her how, no matter how much she resents them and they refuse to accept her, the Giglio are still __**hers.**_

_[And they **are** hers, **rightfully**._

_Just like the position of Heiress and Boss should've been rightfully **hers**-!])_

_(That whispering voice sounds an awful lot like a mix of her dead mother and disappeared sister, the only two to give her a hug and a smile, an **authentic**_ _smile, when it really counts. _

_Of course, Fran ignores the similarity.)_

. . .

Therefore, she is calmly reviewing what to do in the upcoming meeting, instead of wasting her time with worrying.

It is an hour's drive to the agreed upon place; the fact that they are going to be meeting at Byakuran's office, plopped in the center of the Gesso Headquarters, did not reassure her at all.

(There are extremely detailed and elaborate conspiracy theories about the Gesso having entire underground bunkers stashed away in secret, where most of the sensitive Famiglia business actually goes on, as safe as they can be from enemy forces.

_Too_ detainee and elaborate to not have_ some_ sort of truth to it all.

The Gesso are mainly hackers, tacticians, saboteurs, information specialists, spies, poisoners, and blackmailers.

They have a shady reputation, distrusted on principle by most Mafiosi, and apparently a bloodthirsty one as well, seeing as they've had nine Bosses {6 males, 3 females, one of whom was the founder} in the past century of their existence.

Each Boss stops showing up in public after the heir/heiress inherited.

It is a point of speculation as to what the Gesso Inheritance Trial consists of, and whether or not the Bosses stop showing up because they're dead.

They're on Boss #10, aren't they?

Decima, meet Decimo, then.)

Her 'Clairvoyance' _is_ impressive, even better than Yuni's, though not as good as Aria's in her prime.

Still, Clairvoyance is different in how it manifests in everyone.

Aria supposedly saw visions and had a "conscience"-like voice in her head, and Yuni apparently got visions and a watered-down intuition-like ability.

Fran's Clairvoyance is thankfully rather obedient and eager to please.

If she focuses and "askes" her Clairvoyance, it usually sends either visions or general feelings of what to expect, scrying across parallels with about the same history as her world's timeline, and analyzing the most likely outcomes to present the most likely scenarios.

Concentrating on summoning up her Clairvoyance (the warm, tingly _mass_ at the back of her head_mind**spirit**_), Fran receives the same answer she's received ever since she first tries to scry what will happen at the meeting.

An ominous "warning" of devastation, yet an eventual stop to it if she goes.

(It never specifies _what_ devastation, _where_ will be devastated, _when_ or _why_ or _how_ or _by whom._

Clairvoyance-able people know 'future-seeing' isn't really reliable, as a rule. There are very few 'fixed points' actually fated to happen, no matter what, in each alternate world. However, alternate worlds are constantly being spawned anew from each action, each word, each _thought_.

Truthfully, Fran's Clairvoyance is the least accurate one. Aria always saw those 'fixed' moments, like _her_ mother, Luce. Yuni saw 'fixed' moments, too, but at a lower frequency, and could see alternate variations of the 'fixed' moments from the closest alternate worlds. The closer an alternate world is, the smaller the changes, and the greater the similarities. Usually.

[And in a way, that makes her Clairvoyance the most helpful.

Knowing the highest possibilities allow her to prepare contingency plans _for_ contingency plans, and as it's essentially the result of heightened innate observance and 'piecing-together' skills, she is naturally change-flexible and astute.

Doesn't make it any less irritating when she can tell something's going on, but can't figure out _what_.

{It is one of the many factors from which her future immense irritation with a certain white-haired teen stemmed from.}

Knowing about event literally destined happen, despite any and all efforts you exert to prevent it, is frustrating beyond comprehension.

Luce is resigned to her fate as an Arcobaleno, yes, because she knows she can't escape it.

One way or another, she'll end up cursed, so she figures she may as well make it easier for herself by cooperating.

Are you amazed to find that she, too, can be selfish?

Don't be.

She's human, and Aria is as well.

Aria eventually forgives her mother for passing the curse down, and accepts her Pacifier (her _duty_), plus her subsequent speedy death.

... It still hurts to leave her children and Gamma.])

A vision of the Giglio Nero bases destroyed, all survivors clad in strange black uniforms and promptly annexed into a Famiglia nameless to her, if she doesn't.

Yeah.

Not 'a shitty choice at fucking all', to quote herself from her earlier breakdown.

Well, that's not too bad.

Besides, she's already made her bed, so it's time to lie in it, as the saying goes.

There is a faint idea cycling around in her head.

She can work with that.

Glancing out of the tinted windows of the Giglio Nero limo as it purrs to a smooth halt, Fran glimpses a white mansion beckoning to them from between the trees and foliage, a beacon radiating (fake) benevolence and (two-faced) mercy.

Patting down her white Giglio Nero cloak and her Giglio Nero hat (the formal, special-occasion get-up), she absently accepts her wooden bo staff from Gamma.

(The staff is capped by a sphere of Flame-conductive bronze, and is usually concealed as a scepter, to complement her other regalia.

Fran's strength are her Flames, her illusions and distortions of reality.

She's merely decent with a bo staff.

But if her Flames are cut off, rendered ineffective, or ever in need of conservation, 'decent' is enough to buy her time, knock out a few mooks, and perhaps even save her life on day.

Besides, a bo staff with Flame-conductive bronze is practically two-in-one, despite the inferior quality of the bronze in comparison to a proper Ring and Gem.

It wouldn't be wise to give away her actual Ring's location recklessly, needlessly.

Mare Rings are tricky to satisfy, and fickle until they're familiar, but the rush of effortless _power_ is certainly a nice perk.)

Checking her appearance one last time with a mental fingers-cross that things will flow well, Fran rolls her neck, cracks it a few times to either side, and then steps decisively onto the cobblestone driveway.

/_This will be fine, this will be fine, I will **make** this be fine,_/ she repeats, a mind-numbing chant inside her head, leading the way to the Gesso Famiglia's front door.

Fran can sense Gamma's presence at her right as she rings the doorbell, faithfully backing her up.

_'Remember, keep the Mare Rings safe with your life if needed, and don't let Genkishi get his hands on them. I suspect this meeting will have to do with them, and Genkishi's most likely a traitor, not that any of you seem to believe me. And just in case, if I come out of that meeting **changed** in any suspicious way, as your Boss, I authorize you to kill me and destroy the Rings,'_ reads the pre-written note she slips to him, all the while keeping an eye and an ear out for any security cameras or incoming witnesses, er, people.

(If she gave the note to him in the car, or back at Headquarters, he would undoubtedly attempt to change her mind.

[She has to concede Gamma treats her the best, after Aria and Yuni, and it says something that he stays by her after they'd gone. It was quite probable it has to do with him believing he owes it to them to protect her, and perhaps he even sees a bit of them in her, although the latter is highly unlikely. At the very least, his loyalty and true concern for her well-being holds some distinction and redeeming value in her eyes; there is a reason Fran keeps him around as second-in-command.

It won't be too ridiculous of a guess to say Gamma is currently her closest acquaintance, and her only somewhat-confidante.])

Gamma's Lightning Flames flare minutely, thrashing and sparking, before he manages to reign them in and control his shock.

Half-turning her face, Fran stares at him levelly, the deadpan stare that gives her the secret moniker among the Giglio Nero of 'Dead-Eye', and then...

Not quite _softened_, but with less of her usual indecipherable regard, she solemnly nods, confirming her orders.

He dips his head back with shaded eyes, acknowledging her orders and authority deferentially, albeit with a slightly tensed jawline.

/_Good,_/ Fran thinks as she turns back to the now open door, soon following an unnamed, unranked, and thus unimportant Gesso into the slick tiled halls, heading a procession of the higher ranked Giglio Neros, until they are left in the Gesso Boss' private office to await him.

Situating herself almost primly on one of the available chairs, a critical hawk-like gaze is scanned over her subordinates, mentally categorizing and cataloging who is trustworthy and who's loyalty is dubious at best.

If it comes down to a fight, like Gamma had stated so succinctly before, they are outnumbered and in unfamiliar territory.

/_But this is what negotiations **is**. Us and our enemies putting on a show of amiability while trying to squeeze everything we can out of the other._/

Fran's eyes flash to the opening door, where a white-haired boy around her age is sauntering through with a brilliantly blinding (beware_beware__**beware**_, her Clairvoyance flares in agitation, bombarding her with caution from all sides) grin and a marshmallow in his hand.

She stands up and exchanges tersely polite greetings with the Gesso Boss ("So _fantastic_ to meet you at last~! I can just _tell_ that we'll get along _famously..._" "I hope that this meeting will proceed smoothly as well, Gesso."), before following him into his office alone, without a glance back at the certainly fretting Gamma.

/_And if things **really** go to hell, then there's always **that** as a last resort. As a trump card I'd really rather not use. I haven't used it **yet**, so I'm still free, but if it comes down to my life on the line, well, then I would've been going to die anyway. Only if things go to hell… because, after all, that's where **that** is supposedly most comfortable..._/

The '_that' _referenced droops from a translucent cord around her neck, hidden by her clothes, thumping against her chest with each step she takes, weighing her down with the frigidity emitted from it's dulled metal.

Fran doesn't need to check to know it's a deceptively harmless and small silver ring, embossed with a distinct '6-6-6'.

She lives with it burdening her thoughts, since having the misfortune to come across it in the forest at age 7, 8 years ago.

/_Misfortune, misfortune. '**Unlucky Ring**', they call it. 666 times of misfortune, 1 time of fortune. Not much of a trade, I'd say._/

Throwing it away doesn't help; the accursed ring simply comes back to her somehow, each time reappearing mysteriously on her fingers until she finally gives up and just keeps it tied like a pendant, vowing to never use it.

Unless she really, truly, positively, definitely, without any other viable course of action, has no choice left.

This is her _soul_ hanging in the balance, after all.

She might be agnostic, but souls have a special sort of reverence in the Mafia, with definite connections to the very-much-real Dying Will Flames.

And then the door closes behind her for the second time that day, and Fran, Boss of the Giglio Nero, turns and meets the eyes of Byakuran, Boss of the Gesso.

_Click._

* * *

**_Revised 5/21/15._**

**_Added: world-building, the little light-hearted family fluff-of-sorts, and extra information, as well as a different impression of Aria and Yuni's relationships with Fran. Also, her middle name has been taken out. And remember that, at the beginning of the story, her psyche is much more stressed, bitter, and unstable. Later on in the story she seems to settle down significantly, which is partly because she gets accustomed to her role, and relaxes a bit. Now present tense._**

**_~Please Review.~_**

**_~I appreciate reviews like Byakuran appreciates marshmallows.~_**

**_(As in, to the point of obsession._****_)_**


	2. Conversation

**Summary:**

_Fran's not blind, and Fran's not deaf; she can tell she's only a replacement. Yuni was the trusting, benevolent "Aria's daughter". Fran was the suspicious, bitter "spitting image of that-guy-who-married-Aria". She's even born with the "wrong" Flame; a strong primary Mist and a weak secondary Sky. But now that Yuni's vanished, Fran's the (grudging) Giglio Nero Boss. Byakuran's intrigued by a Fran who differs so drastically from her parallel selves. Meanwhile, Yuni being gone has a greater significance than any of them realize._

**Disclaimer:**

_KHR! rights go to Akira Amano._

_The cover picture may or may not be mine, depending on which one I'm using. I tend to switch frequently. In case it isn't mine, then this is a general disclaimer for that. So, yeah. Don't sue me, please._

**Note:**

_/insert words here/ are thoughts._

_Assume__ that they are speaking Italian unless otherwise stated or implied. Fran is canon-ly French, so her father here is French, and she is fluent in it. When stressed and cursing, whether out loud or mentally, she has a tendency to slip and slide back into French. __So, congratulation, you will probably be picking up an assortment of French profanity. _

* * *

**Reviews:**

_Thank you to '**SilverWhiteDragon**' for reviewing. To be honest, that wasn't really what I was thinking when putting Fem!Fran as Aria's daughter. It would make a lot of sense, though. :] The reason I wrote this entire thing, actually, was because I was inspired with a plot bunny that just grew and grew after seeing the picture of Fran in Yuni's outfit. And no, I was actually angling for 10026 or 100666 (ByakuranxFran), because that's a really rare (cracky) pairing, and it just seem to fit here, y'know? Like, Fran's all monotone and morally gray because she can't comprehend 'good' and 'bad' and struggles with 'feelings', and Byakuran can comprehend all those, he just disregards them in pursuit of his goals. Plus, she emotes very little, and thus doesn't give Byakuran the reactions he prods for, which keeps him interested, since he's the kind of person who likes to know exactly how to manipulate someone to get a certain response. He doesn't know much about parallel Frans, though, and this Fran is entirely new to him, so there's that factor as well._

* * *

_~The woods behind and around the Giglio Nero Headquarters play host to several varieties of plantlife. Picnics are popular pastimes in the summer, when many of the flowers are in bloom, and the shade from the trees can be enjoyed optimally. Of course, some stubborn members insist strictly on only sparring in the forests, since they've apparently never heard of the concept of 'fun'. Those people don't get invited to many picnics._

_Betony is a brightly colored plant, with blooms that are reminiscent of flared sleeves dyed pink-purple. The French often call betony by the name of 'betoine', and it attracts many bees, butterflies, and birds._

_It can be analyzed to mean **surprise**.~_

* * *

"All I want is ultimate power. Is that too much to ask for?" - Byakuran

* * *

/_This Fran is certainly different,_/ Byakuran thinks with a privately amused smile.

The person in question looks even more frigidly polite at the sight of the smile, if such a thing is possible.

"Lovely to finally meet you, Fran-chan~," he greets her, taking a seat, and with a lazy wave of his hand, inviting her to do the same.

The Giglio Nero Decima drops unceremoniously into the seat opposite of him.

She scans his office briefly, perfunctorily, before returning her cool gaze onto Byakuran.

(And hell if _that_ doesn't scramble his plans.

He was expecting _Yuni_, not _Fran,_ and thus has no tailored strategy for negotiations.

{Well, okay, for _attack_, since it's not like he's really fooling anyone here.}

To salvage what _can_ be salvaged, and revise what _can't_, will take a fair bit of parallel-viewing, and that always taxes his Flame reserves and tires him out.

Mentally tired out, of course, although he often feels a tad uncomfortable in his own body for a few hours later on.

The detached sensation usually fades soon after, as he refamiliarizes himself with 'his' world, and becomes reoriented.

However, he reflects grimly, it's entirely possible that he can parallel-view dozens of parallels, for dozens of months, and never find one of his parallels that knew how to handle the possible Varia Illusionist.

Parallel-viewing is an unrefined craft; slightly more controlled than Clairvoyance, maybe, but vastly more hit-and-miss, with several variables and drawbacks.

Clairvoyance, at least, can roughly determine the distance of the parallel world viewed, depending on whose Clairvoyance it is, and what it can do.

Fran's Clairvoyance automatically seeks out the closer parallel worlds, so as to maximize the similarities and likelihood of accurate predictions.

For parallel-viewing, it's possible to 'call' to a parallel of the viewer who they've contacted before, but they might not 'pick up', or the 'call' might not 'connect', and the distance of a new parallel world sighted is not immediately determinable.

What might be true in one world, might not stay the same for another.

Like comparing a fishing trawler that targets a specific area, looking for generalities, to a fishing line wildly flailing about, hoping to catch a certain fish by chance.

Hit-and-miss indeed.)

Her eyes focus with an unidentifiable intensity; some of the disinterested haze lift from them.

"Please refrain from addressing me so informally, Gesso; it is unbefitting of a Boss to address another Boss like that upon first meeting," she replies curtly.

And maybe she's speaking a lot more uptight, with much more verbosity than strictly needed, but hey, she's wound-up and tense and rightly expecting a face-off of sorts and when she's nervous she falls back onto automatic reflexes while rambling furiously on the inside.

So sue her, okay?

(Internally, Fran's thoughts are more along the lines of: "Besides, we're in Italy, speaking Italian, and I'm fairly sure we're both at least partly Italian. Why the enfer [hell] would you use distinctly _Japanese_ honorifics?")

(If one was to inquire as to how she knows they're Japanese honorifics, the answer would not be "because of her linguistic proficiency".

Although Fran's a quick study [helped in part by the mental order established from diligent meditation and mindscape discipline], and will prove to be somewhat of an expert in various languages in the future ['manifest Varia-Quality destiny', anyone?], at age 15 at that point in time she's only adept in French, Italian, English, and German, the top 5 [not in that order] commonly used European an languages.

Since, y'know, she lives in Europe and all...

[French as her first language, since her late father's French

Even then, it's just verbal + heard + written + read French, VHWR Italian, VH English, and R German.

Rather, her loose knowledge of Japanese honorifics, and Japanese customs as a whole, comes from [unwillingly] spending many hours listening to the ramblings of the Giglio Nero's very own resident Japanophile.

It is a good thing that Spanner is a prodigious mechanic, and has an unruffled personality that [most of the time] doesn't aggravate Fran, or else she would've sent him off to a distant base in Antarctica already.)

Byakuran pouts childishly, thoughtfully eyeing the (out-of-place-_out-of-place-__**out-of-place**_) hard-to-read girl.

_/Usually the closer parallels are fairly accurate in the larger events and details, but I'm pretty sure that this is the first world where Fran is the blood daughter of Aria._

_Speaking of which, how is she even Boss? __I'm aware that Yuni hasn't been heard from ever since she was eight, two years ago, but I always assumed she was simply undergoing more secretive and rigorous training than her parallels. And even if Yuni is somehow gone, Fran shouldn't have been able to be Boss, regardless of her family relations, because she's a Mist._

_...Wait, what if that changed, too?_ _Damnit, this is **so** derailing my plans for the Tri-Ni-Set; Fran's going to be much shrewder and difficult to work with. The mind-repressing drug might not even work on her if she can sense it._ _Mists and their 'constant vigilance' and acute sensitivity ..._

_The real problem is all the **ifs**. I have virtually no information of her except that her parallels are all 'top magicians', as blank-faced as she is, and have an eternally snarky monotone drawl, which she was probably curbing right now in favor of keeping up the 'Boss' facade./_

Brushing away his thoughts before the silence became prolonged, Byakuran tries out another smile, overflowing with (false) sincerity and charm.

To test the waters, so to say.

"Of course, Giglio Nero-san. It's still _lovely_ to meet you. Your Boss hat and cloak fit you very well."

She remains unfazed by the sudden compliment, merely narrowing her eyes fractionally, obviously trying to figure out what he was getting at.

"Thank you," she answers cordially, with a barely-there edge of sarcasm. "Your purple spike-tattoo is very distinctive as well. We haven't time to dawdle on appearances, however. I'm the Giglio Nero Boss, and you're the Gesso Boss. Right now, we're having a talk about our Famiglias' futures. And that's the only thing that matters, isn't it?"

/_Ah, there it is. Her acid tongue's slipping through, huh?_/

Outwardly, the white-haired boy just keeps up his smile, though it sharpens considerably, cutting off the artificial cheer.

"Yes," he says pleasantly, eyes crinkling up into an upside down 'U'. "Yes, that _is_ what matters. But you see, I'm afraid I'm slightly lost right now; I was under the idea that your Flames were Mist, not Sky, and therefore couldn't ever ascend to Boss. Wasn't little Yuni supposed to be heiress?"

And he isn't lying, at least, not at this moment.

Byakuran truly _doesn't_ know why _Fran_ is here and not _Yuni_, and that _frustrates_ him, because he _needs_ to know things. Needs to know _everything_, so he can _prepare_ and be _ready_ and _neverever__**ever**_ got caught off guard _again._

/_That was what got her killed..._/

Fran's eyes widen marginally, her dark blue eye-markings stretching over her fine cheekbones, before recovering with only an interrupted hitch in her breathing.

/_Touchy spot about her Flames and suitability?_/

He almost wants to applaud the girl; such a master over her expressions is she, that if Byakuran hasn't been specifically watching her with all the experience he'd gotten about reading body language from his parallels, he would've thought her to be completely unperturbed as ever.

With a placid expression, Fran shrugs casually.

"Meh, my flames of Sky are strong enough to take the throne for the meantime. But now I'm the one lost here; I fail to comprehend how any of that has to with two Bosses talking out amiable agreements between non-Rival Famiglias. Although, I'm especially concerned with how you knew about my Mist Flames, and yet haven't heard of Yuni's … absence. Wasn't your little spy, Genkishi, supposed to keep you updated on inside information?" The two snapped their gazes squarely on the other, and a silent confrontation happened between them in the space of seconds.

Then they both look away at the same time, and the tense build-up of rising Sky Flames, and Mist Flames with a fainter undertone of Sky, peter off, before slowly dissolving back into their bodies.

* * *

/_So she knows about Genkishi? That's bad. Her suspicions of me probably just rose a hundredfold because of our little stare-off, too. Plus, I still have no idea what happened to Yuni. Shit, shit , **shit**… how to turn this around?_/

Plans after plans whirl around the boy's head, and then are discarded and scrapped twice as quickly.

/_So he knows about my Mist? That's bad. He just got a lot more suspicious with that little stare-off. At least now I've confirmed that Genkishi's a traitorous bastard, just like I originally suspected. Merde {shit}, merde, **merde**… how to turn this around?_/

Visions after visions blur in the girl's head, and then are disregarded and shuffled twice as quickly.

* * *

"...Anyway, we're off-track again. So let's be honest here, or else we'll get nothing done, and this'll be an even greater waste of my time. We've pretty much already established that you don't think I should be Boss because of my Flames, and I don't think you should be trusted because of your spies, as in plural, because I'd be a naive fool if I assumed that you'd allow yourself to rely so heavily on one person and one perspective. We've also established that you didn't know of Yuni's disappearance at age 8, and for some reason you'd prefer to see her as Boss rather than me, meaning that you probably want something that only she could get, or rather, _give_. Correct so far?"

Byakuran gives a genuine half-smile at his counterpart's blunt summing up.

/_How refreshing. Better than the parallel Tsunayoshis who never stop either trying to 'convert' my parallels, or swearing vengeance on my parallels for the death of their allies, or some other repetitive 'happiness' and 'rainbows' and 'the power of friendship' drivel like that. Sho-chan, unfortunately, still stutters too much. Maybe Fran could help him get to the point? Ah, but that's no fun when coming from him. It's funnier watching him tip-toe around me._/

He leans back in his chair and places his hands down onto the table separating them.

"Mmm, yes, yes, correct so far, I believe," he agrees easily, raising his right hand to idly examine his fingers.

Then, purposely keeping his eyes on Fran to observe her reaction, he deftly twists around a silver band to reveal a formerly upside-down and hidden silver winged ring with a blue gemstone. "Continue, Sherlock?"

Fran doesn't bother too much with controlling her emotions this time around.

/_Does the shock short-circuit her or something?_

_Worth noting._/

She sucks in a short gasp and her eyes flash nine ways to kill.

Metaphorically.

(... Probably metaphorically.)

"Where did you get that." she demands, voice flatter than a burnt pancake, and lacking the upraise lilt of a question altogether. Her Mist flames fluctuating visibly around her clenched hands, singing the wood of the table.

"Oh, this?" he asks, with mocking surprise in his voice, exaggeratedly widening his eyes in what he's dubbed his 'anime surprise eyes'.

Sliding it off in a smooth, practiced motion, he begins tossing it up into the air before catching it again with the same hand, just to not-so-subtly emphasize how familiar he is with the ring.

Lavender eyes, half-lidded but keenly observant, slide sideways to match her own irises.

A smirk, an actual smirk and not those false smiles, curl his lips. "A little _brain_ gave it to me. Why? Does it look familiar to the misty black lily?"

Her jaw twitches (with what, to her, felt vaguely like amplified irritation) at his taunting sing-song remarks.

(And, frankly, the horrible puns.)

/_**Brain?** Don't connerie [bullshit] me, you putain bâtard [fucking bastard]. Those putain Cervellos… hah, '**unbiased**' my cul [ass]! Putain favorite-ers, that's what they are. And that last phrase was **clearly** a jab at my Mist Flames or last name and the Giglio Nero; the translation **is** 'black lily', after all, and 'Brume' means 'mist'. Well, two can play at that game, though only one can win._/

"It does look rather familiar," she remarks mildly, drawing heavily on her constant stores of languor to bank the cinders of her ire, currently being heavily stoked by the white-haired menace's casual provocations. "Now where have I seen it before?"

She pretends to be absorbed in thought for a moment, talking through her 'thought process'.

"There _is_ a certain eerie resemblance to the Sky Mare Ring, which should, by all rights, belong to the Giglio Neros. But that's of no consequence; if it _is_ the Sky Mare Rin, it would've chosen it's own wielder, anyway. So I suppose congratulations are in order. Oh, and tell the Cervellos I said 'hello', alright? I was wondering why they'd suddenly dropped off the grid a few months ago, and had stopped visiting for 'diplomatic' meetings. Not much to be diplomatic about, anymore? Though now I'm pretty sure I have a good idea of what you're after … you think you can get away with conning the rest of the Mare Rings out of me for your Funeral Wreaths?"

"Of course not; why do you assume I would try conning you?" he shoots back with a faux puzzled glance, not missing a beat.

"Please, think me not a fool, will you? I can piece it together. Even now, people automatically think 'innocent' and 'gullible' when Yuni is mentioned, and 'cynical' and 'paranoid' when I'm mentioned. I've got ears, you know, and there's no loss for whispers. It's not paranoia if they're really out to get you," she retorts, her indifference cracking slightly when traces of bitterness seep through at her description.

The last sentence obviously is not meant to have slipped out, judging by her slightly too fast blink at the end.

"Ouch, how cold of you, Franny-chan. Fine, since we're having a heart-to-heart right now, I admit I was planning to convince dear Yuni to hand over the Mare Rings peacefully. I expect that that's no longer an option for you?"

"'Franny-chan' is worse than your former 'Fran-chan', not that 'Fran-chan' is acceptable either. If you absolutely must have a cutesy nickname, at least take off the honorifics. We're not even in Japan, you realize? And did that _convincing_ include drugging Yuni so she looked like a mind-controlled zombie? If so, than you expect rightly."

"Hmm? And how did you know of _that_, 'Franny'?" His tone is laced with poison honey, needles prickling the surface.

/_Howhow**how**? Did she have a spy, too? Unacceptable; can't slip._/

" 'Franny' is still unacceptable, and famed Giglio Nero 'Clairvoyance', of course. I presume _your_ uncanny knowledge has something to do with the Sky Mare Ring's ability to see parallel worlds?"

"But of course, 'Francy'. But of course. So what are you going to do?"

"You know what, just use 'Fran-chan' or whatever, I really don't care anymore. And that depends. What can I do to counter what _you're_ about to do?"

"Me? All I want is ultimate power. Is that too much to ask for?"

"You're about as humble as a peacock, Gesso. That _is_ a little too much to ask for, yes. _Far_ too much to be reasonable. Then again, who ever said you were reasonable? _I_ certainly didn't. Fine, let's assume I agree to a mutually beneficial and reasonable trade for the Mare Rings, and we merge our Famiglias into that 'Millefiore' thing I've seen you construct in the future. What will you do with the Rings? What will you do with the _power?_"

"You wound me, Francy-chan, truly you do. Peacock? And please, call me Byakuran. The Rings? My Funeral Wreaths, naturally. The _power_… haven't really thought about it."

That last part is lie, and they both know it.

She doesn't pry, and he doesn't offer.

/_All to fix it into a world for her..._/

"I want equal rights. And I mean _actual_ equal rights, none of that second-in-command puppetry you had going on...correction, _would have had_ going on. Co-ruling, at least."

"Mmm… makes sense, I suppose, though I give no promise. Some equalities are more equal than others, is what they say."

"That's the best I'll worm out of you, so I'll take it. That whole 'Black' and 'White' theme you were planning? Horrible idea. Divisions breed sabotage and animosity. If not a mixer or a rotation schedule, than have a neutral 'Spell' in there for smoothing ruffled feathers, otherwise it'll be a veritable civil _war _going on. Sabatoge from the inside is how 80% of organizations are felled from the height of their glory. 'Gray Spell', maybe, if you insist on that whole 'spell' thing."

"Who'd lead? You?"

"If you agree, than yes, _me_. I'll hand off heading the 'Black Spells' to Gamma; he's much more trusted than I am by the Giglio Nero, regardless of rank. I'm no Yuni, and they seem quite fixated on that, so it's for the best, I guess."

"What would the Gray Spells be made of? I was thinking offensive for Black, and tactics for White. I can allow Gamma to head, but he won't be co-ruling with us, then; that's too easily 2 versus 1 for my comfort."

"Defense, diplomacy, peacekeeping, support, healing, technicalities: all those areas that don't fit neatly into 'offensive' and 'tactics', and would benefit from level-headed neutralists. Most will be from hand-picked members from the White and Black, screened for ability and personality, and later when we can properly roll out some recruitment offers, the Gray Spell will grow as well.

"I'm predominantly Mist, true, and I'm not being arrogant when I say I'm a good Mist, too. I can train the Mist users to be defensive _and_ offensive if caught unaware, and some Rain and Suns and Lightnings would be helpful for the peacekeeping, healers, and adding to the defenses by Hardening them. I see your point on Gamma, and I wasn't going to suggest that, anyway. Hey, I just met you, and call me crazy, but I have an inkling that you two would clash heavily in terms of ethics," Fran added dryly.

"Oh~? So you _wouldn't_ clash with me in terms of ethics?"

"The difference between me and you when talking of morals, is that I don't see the difference between good and bad, while you simply don't appear to duly care very much."

"Hmm… so very true, so very true. ... Marshmallow, Francy-chan~?"

"No thank you. I prefer my guava, Gesso."

"We'll see if I can get you to change, then…"

It is the start of a frightening relationship.

* * *

_**Revised 6/6/15**_

_**Added: parallel-viewing info, more Byakuran thoughts, few typos, the flower thing, present tense, subbing in French curses, and general fixing-up and extra info.**_

_**Do you guys get the metaphor of the last four lines? Basically, he's kinda asking if she's willing to join his side, or something along those lines. Fran refuses, citing her preference for her guava candies, which are the ones that her mother used to give her [from: Chapter 1], signifying her [somewhat] loyalty to her roots and Famiglia. Byakuran then says that he'll be trying to change her mind.**_

_**(Why guava candies, you ask? Well, first of all, I happen to be going through a guava candy phase, and second of all, they're teal-ish. See? White marshmallows for a white-haired Byakuran, and teal guava candies for a teal-haired Fran. Although guava-everything will be popping up in the story, as will many variations of marshmallows-on-something.)**_

_**#**_

_**#**_

_**#**_

_**~Please Review~ **_

_**~I appreciate reviews like Ryohei appreciates the extremeness of boxing!~**_


	3. Revelation

**Summary:**

_Fran's not blind, and Fran's not deaf; she can tell she's only a replacement. Yuni was the trusting, benevolent "Aria's daughter". Fran was the suspicious, bitter "spitting image of that-guy-who-married-Aria". She's even born with the "wrong" Flame; a strong primary Mist and a weak secondary Sky. But now that Yuni's vanished, Fran's the (grudging) Giglio Nero Boss. Byakuran's intrigued by a Fran who differs so drastically from her parallel selves. Meanwhile, Yuni being gone has a greater significance than any of them realize._

**Disclaimer:**

_KHR! rights go to Akira Amano._

_The cover picture may or may not be mine, depending on which one I'm using. I tend to switch frequently. In case it isn't mine, then this is a general disclaimer for that. So, yeah. Don't sue me, please._

**Note:**

_/insert words here/ are thoughts._

_Assume__ that they are speaking Italian unless otherwise stated or implied. Fran is canon-ly French, so her father here is French, and she is fluent in it. When stressed and cursing, whether out loud or mentally, she has a tendency to slip and slide back into French. So, congratulation, you will probably be picking up an assortment of French profanity. _

* * *

**Reviews****:**

_Thank you, '**xxx**' for your review. I'm flattered that you loved it!~ :]_

_Thank you, '**Someonepassingby**' for your review. I actually have a few AU one-shots of this fic planned out; there's a B26 one mixed in there, because, well, I personally also support B26, and you're the 2nd reviewer who has commented on that. So yeah, just hang in there; expect '**In Another Life**' to come out... soon? Well, as soon as I'm inspired enough to write that as well. Cranking out a chapter every day from scratch takes a lot outta you, y'know?_

_Thank you, '**Teafully**', for your review. First off, I love your pen name. (Much more unique and whimsical than most I've seen!) Secondly, I'm honored you decided to review this fic. Reviews are what motivate authors to continue a young fanfiction in it's wobbly, uncertain 'baby days'. I was honestly hoping that everyone would love this concept as much as I loved it; after I saw a great picture of Fran in Yuni's clothes, I spent a few hours spent doodling and dreaming at school, and BAM! I had a basic plotline planned out. And I know, right? There should be way more Fem!Fran stories; if there are so many of Fem!Mammon, why not of Fran, who's also an androgynous illusionist? (Well, if his voice was a few shades higher...) _

* * *

_~The Gesso Library was a small, quiet, and rather deserted room tucked away into the labyrinthine maze of hallways that unfurled underneath the 'official' Headquarters. Still, the man appointed as 'librarian' (but who mostly stayed as the Gesso vice-Head of Intelligence) was the sort who appreciated the little details, so, without fail, he would place a flower into the vase on his 'desk' everyday._

_Cinnamon__ grows on trees, and is actually the bark, but as flowers, they can be described as tiny, soft yellow flowers sprouting from light green buds. One cannot refute the fact that cinnamon is a spice, however, and a rather common used and well-liked spice._

_It can be analyzed to mean **my fortune is your's**.~_

* * *

"Assume away, Francy-chan, it's a free country, after all." - Byakuran

* * *

If Fran is anyone else, she will sneak a wary glance at the brightly smiling teen to her left.

But she isn't.

She's Frances Brume, the Giglio Nero Decima (_no you're not_, they whisper, _you're just a secondhand, a back-up, a last resort; perfect__perfect__**perfect**_ _**Yuni**_ i_s the __**real**_ Decima_…), _and she'd be damned before letting Byakuran and everyone in the room notice her apprehension.

(It was different when she is alone, or if it is just her, Gamma, and bunch of sealed-into-secrecy nameless maids; then she can feel free to rip off her blanked features and let all those confusing_torrent__**can't-handle-can't-handle-can't-handle**_ emotions break past and crash over her brutally like a Doomsday tsunami, until she can't talk and she can't choke and she can't gasp and everything is just _too much_ with her tears {why_why__**why**_?} burning like a hissing acid.

Then she stops and she slows and she _breathes_; she breathes until she's in control again, and puts her blanked features back on like a familiar, cooling lotion that reassuringly smooths everything over {soothes the _itch_ the _rash_ the _wound_} so it's all okay again, all okay_okay__**okay**_.

{_ithastobeokay_}

And it _has_ to be okay, or else she starts thinking about Yuni again, and Aria, Yuni and Aria who always looked at her with those puzzled but fond_kind__**loving**_ looks of _acceptance_, and who were the only ones who ever _helped_ more than they _hurt_, even if they couldn't _tell_ they were hurting her with their distance and their absences...)

So instead she steps forward, surveys her tensed Famiglia (but not family, not _true_ family, no they'd _never_ be her _true_ family, that was a right reserved only for... ?) with cool (if not _cold_) eyes, and rests them on Gamma at the end.

"I," she starts abruptly, voice reserved and carefully cleansed of any 'tells' or subconscious 'cues'.

Several of her jumpier members flinch, causing her to glance briefly at them with a mental twang of disapproval and irritation at their show of weakness in front of another Famiglia.

(Allied, now, but _they_ didn't know that.)

"I, Frances Brume, Decima of the Giglio Nero, hereby give my orders. We will be partnering with the Gesso Famiglia to form the Millefiore Famiglia, in a merger-alliance of mutual standing, respect, and authority. The Gesso Decimo and I will be co-leading, naturally, as the Millefiore Primo and Prima. Further details and instructions will be given at later time, estimated to be sometime next week, and we will stay in personal contact to collaborate on efforts for a blueprint and agenda whose benefits for both our Famiglias we are confident in."

Fran pauses (a bit dry-mouthed from the long phrases and complicated formally binding words), and looks pointedly at some of the people who seemed about to burst out into questions and protests, sharply spiking her Sky Flames.

It's effective in silencing them, even those who might ordinarily show signs of reluctance.

(She can't allow herself to show any trace of the weakness in her muscles; that is a consequence of using her secondary Flames.)

They should've known better; full names and formalities are only evoked for especially important and often permanent changes. Using a full name and title to give orders is akin to a verbally binding and lawful contract-agreement.

/_And this is why they'd never obey me fully; if they can't trust my judgement, how can I trust them to be there when I need them? Respect's a two-way street, and I already chose to take the shortcut through the woods a **long** time ago._/

"Genkishi Rei, the Phantom Knight, please step out."

/_Hey, I can be polite to people I detest, too. Especially if I'm going to do what I'm going to do next._/

A moment passes, before the crowd of Giglio Neros part with faint rustles to let the black-haired man through.

Genkishi proudly stops in front of the two, intentionally bowing to Byakuran first before sparing a shallower bow to his (_technically_) true Boss.

Slight whispers weave their way through the ranks about Genkishi's blatant insubordination, before being silenced again by yet another one of Fran's pointed looks.

She then smiles faintly; as in, faintly _menacingly_, which nonetheless still shocks most of her Famiglia, who rarely ever see their heiress-turned-Boss crack an expression, other than her signature eerie blankness.

Only Gamma has a look of understanding dawn upon him.

/_Smart man,_/ she thinks with amusement. /_I can understand what Aria saw in him, I suppose._/

(Now, _amusement_ she can handle, and other mild feelings.

It is just _rage_ and _horror_ and _heart-wrenching grief_ that seem to slip through her desperately outstretched fingers like water, water that taunted and tempted the thirsting beggar {me_me**me**_} who has never before _understood_ the _concept_ of water and refreshment and relief from the horrible blandness of uncaring drought.

She can _feel_ it, perhaps, but she can't put a _name_ to it.

And names have power.)

/_He knows exactly where I'm going with this._/

Even Byakuran appears lightly befuddled at this turn of events, though how much of that is an act, and how much of it is true, is difficult to decipher.

(Fran doesn't trust him, because she doesn't know him.

Really, really _know_ him.

The idea of him knowing _her_ is one that makes her properly wary.)

He angles his body fractionally, just enough to thoroughly _look_ at her.

(For the admittedly short amount of time since she has first met Byakuran, his gaze has never failed to unnerve her. It's like he's examining her, scanning her very being, trying to puzzle out what makes her _tick_ and how to make her dance to his tune.

She refuses to dance.

{But whoever said that the tune is an audible one? Byakuran _is_ a genius, and a genius who _knew_ people, making him all that more dangerous for it.

He just doesn't _know_ Fran yet.

Yet.

Only a matter of time and patience...})

"Genkishi Rei, you are hereby expelled and exiled permanently from the Giglio Nero Famiglia on counts of high treason, abusing your position of trust in order to gain access to confidential, sensitive, high-security intelligence, and willingly giving away said confidential, sensitive, and high-security intelligence to another Famiglia not allied at the time," Fran states concisely, feeling her amusement swell at the gloriously gobsmacked expressions that spring onto everyone's (in the room, that is; except for Gamma and Byakuran) faces.

The amusement on Byakuran's face mirrors her own, which causes hers to falter.

Without tearing his disconcertingly _sharp_ and _calculating_ lavender irises (_so sharp that they feel like **tiny blades skating up and down** her skin, leaving chips of crimson and fleeting **cuts** that shift and prickle unpleasantly_) away from her own placidly passive teal eyes (_lay calm and cool like a well of still water, deceptively shallow and offering much-needed refreshment, promising safety and drawing others closer until they trip and fall and **drown**, still making nary a ripple as they envelop them and **swallow them whole** with a silent yawn)_, he speaks up with a sudden flash of a knives-for-teeth grin.

"Eh, Genkishi-kun, how'd you like to join the Gesso instead?" he queries, tone carelessly casual. "We'll all be united and one under the Millefiore banner, after all."

/_He makes it sound so simple, so reasonable. Hmm._/

Fran lifts her right shoulder an inch before dropping it, signalling that she doesn't mind.

(And she doesn't, she truly doesn't.

That is what she's been expecting this entire time, after all.

That is what she's been _planning_ for.)

Blinking off-handedly, she breaks off from Byakuran's assessing gaze and refocuses on Genkishi (that traitorous lying _bâtard _[bastard]), searching for his reaction.

She needn't wait long.

Almost immediately, the black-haired man pounces eagerly on the proffered opportunity, _beyond_ happy to have been given the opportunity, the _privilege_, by his self-proclaimed 'God'.

"Of course, Byakuran-sama! I would be honored to be allowed as part of your Famiglia, and I pledge to obey and follow you until death!" The 'Phantom Knight' proclaimed fervently with vaguely starry eyes.

A sideways glance at the Giglio Neros reveals that that little display has convinced most of them that, yes, Genkishi is quite obviously a traitorous lying bastard who's been spying for the Gesso.

/_Just what I've been saying for months._/

Thus, the disgusted and furious faces they wear.

Some of them look confused, however.

They are the ones probably questioning _why_ they are entering an alliance with the Gesso, then, if their Boss knows of their blatant treachery?

Fran doesn't give them any time to ruminate and think up absurd conspiracy theories.

(Lesson 1 in Mafia Management: Don't let rumors start, or at least, don't let uncontrolled speculation begin. Fact is often blander than fiction, unless Flames are involved, in which case fiction _is_ fact.)

Clearing her throat, she continues curtly, "As second-in-command, Gamma will be your interim leader, and don't you _dare_ say anything about him not being a Sky. I seem to recall several people voicing their, ahem, _opinions_ about _me_ not being fit for Boss, either, because of my Mist Flames. Many minor Famiglias do not have Skies as Bosses."

(She wisely refrains from adding that it is one of the reasons they are 'minor' Famiglias.)

"My supposedly ultra-classified and _top-secret_ Mist Flames, which I now find has been leaked outside of the Famiglia. I'll still officially be Boss; I simply relinquish all ruling rights to him, so I'm nevertheless a Giglio Nero in name, and still retain all my accessing rights. Oh, and that doesn't kick in until we're all settled at the agreed upon Millefiore base, so as of now I have not changed from being your Boss."

She 'graciously' allows the roomful of people a half-minute to erupt into frantic chaos, before dragging up the dregs of her rapidly dwindling secondary Sky Flames and forcibly flaring them to quiet everyone.

Fran bulldozes onwards, with an inkling of satisfaction at their oh-so-amusing reactions.

"And that concludes todays' meeting."

. . .

Meeting Byakuran's eyes again, she inquires, "Should I expect the initial draft of our merger terms to be drawn up and sent over for scrutiny sometime next Monday?"

"Two days? You drive a hard bargain, Francy-chan, but it shall be done. I have very good lawyers, you know."

"Well, I don't know, actually, since the Giglio Nero have not infiltrated the Gesso, but yes, I assume that you'd need them to get out of any troubles you may have found yourself in."

/_You're the one with the spy, and probably spies. The lawyers have needed to do some fast-talking to fix your meddling, haven't they?_/

Another infuriating upside-down 'U' eye-smile, as he brushes off her insinuated accusations.

"Assume away, Francy-chan. It's a free country, after all."

"It certainly is. Now, will you call for an escort to lead us out, or do you believe us to be capable of finding our own way? I trust no tampering was done to our vehicles; it'd be a horrible shame for any Flame residue or high-tech trackers to conveniently end up burned to a crispy ash."

"I'll summon one of the 'gophers' to show you to the door. And of course not, Francy-chan! I'm offended you'd even _accuse_ me of such a backhanded, sly, heinously plotted thing. Besides, can ashes even be crispy?"

(Backhanded, sly, and heinously plotting pretty much sums up Byakuran Gesso.)

"I'll _make_ them crispy if I have to. Don't doubt me, Gesso."

"Again, please, call me Byakuran, Francy-chan."

"Again, no, Gesso. I tolerate your fanciful nicknames, and that is it: tolerance. Besides, it would be rather rude of me to refer to you so casually after such a short period of acquaintance, although I trust that we will be seeing more of each other as this alliance matures."

"Mou~. So _mean_, Francy-chan! Eh, but your escort's here, so I'll see you in a week!"

"Unfortunately…" Fran mutters, seemingly restraining an eye-roll, before sweeping out of the room.

A still rather shell shocked procession of Giglio Nero trail behind her, along with an anxious Gamma who appears to be pleading (and losing) an issue.

Byakuran merely closes his eyes, pops in a marshmallow, and smiles privately to himself.

(He is also ignoring the black-haired Mist swordsman who is trying to get his 'God's' attention with an expression of pure worship and adoration. Until Genkishi starts getting a whole lot more useful, Byakuran doesn't have any particular interest in him as anything more than another potentially useful acquirement.)

/_Hmm… at least this Fran's more interesting than Yuni would've been. And we all know how much I hate to get bored. Those I get bored with tend to have an unfortunate habit of mysteriously vanishing. Oops._/

_Bite_.

_Sever._

_Chew._

The poor marshmallow is reduced to a pulp in no time at all.

/_Just remember… all this 'Ultimate Power' is for the sake of her, for the sake of her memory, to construct a perfect, peaceful paradise where she would've been able to live. _

_Not die by my hand._

_Where she could have just been a loving, affectionate mother; and I could have just been a loving, affectionate son._

_This is all for you, **Madre** [Mother]._/

* * *

**Deleted Scene**

**(wherein fran probably murdered fawkes and robbed draco malfoy):**

"Besides, can ashes even be crispy?"

Fran suddenly gains a very wide and creepy grin.

"If you slather a phoenix in globs of Sneerington's Super-Strength Shiny-Slick-Snobby-Smooth Stiffening Solution hair gel and then shoot it with a flamethrower... then yes, yes they can be crispy."

Byakuran blinks, feeling like he has somehow gotten the stoic and snappy tealette's personality completely wrong.

"Um... okay?"

She waves him off, eyes aglow with the glint of past memories better off forgotten, that supremely OOC grin still there.

(Belphegor shivers in the Varia Training Room and sneezes.

"Why do I want to stab a frog and sue them for copyright infringement?" he mused aloud idly.)

Byakuran slowly edges around her and hustles the Giglio Nero into leaving.

... He can hear hysterical cackling from the hallway windows five minutes later.

The cackles faintly sound as if someone is trying to say, "Serves that stupid overgrown flaming turkey _right_ for trying to poop fire on _my_ mansion roof!"

* * *

_**Revised 6/3/15**_

_**Added: extra info in parentheses, 'Mama' is 'Madre', streamlined some text to make it easier to read, and bunch of little stuff that's better off with you rereading it yourself to find out, put it in rpesent tense, added the deleted scene.**_

_**#**_

_**By the way:**_

_**-Extra scenes are more serious/less light-hearted moments that can be taken as Replacement!canon or totally non-canon**_

_**-Deleted scenes are just crack**_

_**-Omakes are less serious/more light-hearted moments that can be taken as **__**Replacement!canon or totally non-canon**_

_**-Background Info is extra information for world-building**_

_**#**_

_**#**_

_**Gasp! Major plot reveal (and character insight)! So Byakuran turns out to have a (maybe-somewhat-cliche?) reason behind his want to achieve the Tri-Ni-Set and rule the world. Everyone thinks they can do something better than the person currently doing it, after all.**_

_**#**_

_**Does anyone have a guess as to where Yuni went? Hint, hint: the Sky Pacifier is missing.**_

_**#**_

_**~Please Review~ **_

_**~I love getting reviews more than Reborn loves being a sadistic baby tutor from Hell!~**_


	4. Contemplation

**Summary:**

_Fran's not blind, and Fran's not deaf; she can tell she's only a replacement. Yuni was the trusting, benevolent "Aria's daughter". Fran was the suspicious, bitter "spitting image of that-guy-who-married-Aria". She's even born with the "wrong" Flame; a strong primary Mist and a weak secondary Sky. But now that Yuni's vanished, Fran's the (grudging) Giglio Nero Boss. Byakuran's intrigued by a Fran who differs so drastically from her parallel selves. Meanwhile, Yuni being gone has a greater significance than any of them realize._

**Disclaimer:**

_KHR! rights go to Akira Amano._

_The cover picture may or may not be mine, depending on which one I'm using. I tend to switch frequently. In case it isn't mine, then this is a general disclaimer for that. So, yeah. Don't sue me, please._

**Note:**

_/insert words here/ are thoughts._

_Assume__ that they are speaking Italian unless otherwise stated or implied. Fran is canon-ly French, so her father here is French, and she is fluent in it. When stressed and cursing, whether out loud or mentally, she has a tendency to slip and slide back into French. __So, congratulation, you will probably be picking up an assortment of French profanity._

* * *

**Extra Note:**

_Happy Valentines' Day 2015! An extra long and introspectively angsty chapter has been uploaded in honor of this holiday. :] Although, I suppose there is quite a lot of motherly love shown here, so maybe that'll balance out the overload of angsty flashbacks enough that it isn't __too__ depressing for a day meant for love?_

_Also, their current ages:_

_Yuni= would be 10, if she aged normally wherever she went_

_Fran= around 15_

_Byakuran= around 15_

_If you think the ages don't fit, well, it's an AU. And that's my excuse for any other inconsistencies (though hopefully there shouldn't be any)._

* * *

**Reviews:**

_Thank you, '__**ADDBaby**__', for your review. Fran's reply: "Eh, sorry-not-sorry, I'm broke and cheap. And I have no idea what a 'pollow' is. I can, however, offer you a refund on your 'EMOTIOOOOOOONNNSSSSS'; please inquire at the official Giglio Nero HQ Gift Shop to find tissue boxes for sale for your tears." But seriously, I'm glad you liked it and felt strongly enough about it to type up a review. Even if it ends up with an overload of 'feels'. :]_

* * *

_~You'd be surprised at some of the properties claimed to be 'sacred' under the protection oaths and safety treaties of the various Mafia Famiglias. Very few things are sacred in the Mafia, and many would argue, not without just cause, that nothing is really sacred. However, regardless as to them being 'really' sacred, there are still properties marked down as such, and alliances have been broken and wars have been declared over such properties' sacredness being violated. Basically, it's a fool who decides to mess around with and fight in another Famiglia's flower shops, hotels, morgues, funeral houses, and spas. It's never a good idea to get up to any funny business in another Famiglia's properties, actually, but more so with those marked 'sacred' under treaty. 'Sacred' grounds are those under the highest levels of guaranteed safety, and that guaranteed safety will most likely be enforced with severe vindication. It's a matter of pride; if a Famiglia can't protect it's most important pieces, it's checkmate for that Boss. That's why the Vongola-owned properties are typically the safest Mafia-owned places to be, since they're large and powerful enough to ensure your safety. Well, provided that you're a welcomed guest, of course._

_Helenium is part of the sunflower family, a fact that shows in it's bulbous pollen-core and it's cheerful yellow-orange petals. Also known as sneezeweed, helenium is supposedly named after Helen of Troy, a famous historical/mythical figure said to possess such beauty, that wars were raged over her._

_It can be analyzed to mean **tears**.~ _

* * *

/It's easier to see bloodstains on white than black./ - Byakuran

* * *

Byakuran heaves a bitter sigh, his eyes closing against the harsh scrutiny of the lights.

Currently, the white-haired Gesso Boss and future Millefiore co-Boss is alone in his office.

He had put out a general 'don't bother me unless you're urgently dying of an unidentified and potentially weaponizable disease' warning to his Famiglia, granting himself a couple hours of rest and relaxation before going off to bed; a nice, peaceful end to wrap up a hectic Friday.

At least, that is the initial plan.

Unfortunately, "the best laid plans of mice and men are often set awry", or whatever that quote is supposed to be..

Case in point: here he is, sitting by his lonesome in his empty office with the ceiling lights dimmed to shadows, the poster child of a clinically depressed budding megalomaniac of a teen who's plotting to take over the world.

Fiddling absently with the champagne flute in his hand, Byakuran wonders, morosely, when he had started losing hope for himself and his dreams.

When he had started questioning his goals.

Taking a sip of the fizzy drink, the white-haired teen acerbically mutters to himself, "I sure hope I don't start becoming an alcoholic like Xanxus at 15…"

(A brief smile flickers over his face; nah, Francy-chan would definitely stop him from doing so, icy spitfire and oxymoron that she is.

Seriously. Her very existence defies his previous expectations of this world, but he managed to convince her to join him without even resorting to outright threats, so there's that, at least.

Maybe this plan of his won't be a complete failure.

Shaking his head mentally, Byakuran dismisses that thought and scolds himself.

/_Think positive, think positive. Agh, stupid alcohol being a stupid depressant. I never think negatively until I start drinking alone. Damn, that makes me sound really, really sad. Sad as in pathetic. Hmm, how angry would Sho-chan get if I decide to go clubbing next Saturday? Go undercover, fib it for 'surveillance' on potential Mafia hotspots, maybe drag Francy-chan and Sho-chan along... Francy-chan needs to relax, being tense all the time will give her wrinkles. And it'd just be like going to school together again with Sho-chan! Ah, we skipped so many classes..._/)

Heaving another tired, weary sigh, he lifts his head up from it's position (where it has been protectively nestled on his two arms, which are crossed and laid flat on his desk) and spins his chair whimsically.

Byakuran winds up with his head slung back over his swiveling armchair, cloudy lavender eyes staring despondently up at the ceiling.

"Well," he speaks aloud, mostly to himself.

A twirl of the half-empty glass, a delicate taste of the pink bubbles.

"Since I seem to be in an introspective mood, anyway, now's as good a time as ever to reflect on the _original_ reason for my hopes and goals. Maybe I'll even find out the answers to be questions of when I started losing sight of them… let's see now..."

_Fizzle._

_Pop._

_Burst._

* * *

**. . .**

* * *

_It all begins with his mother._

"Ran, the Inheritance Trial is going to be coming up soon."

I know immediately that it is my mother who's addressing me; she is the only one who ever calls me 'Ran'.

"My little orchid," she often likes to say.

She sounds drastically different from her average self, however.

Usually, she is confident and witty and always has time to dote on me, her heir and only child.

Now, she looks unsettled, _scared_, and her lips press thinner until they were a slit of stark bone-white stretching across her skin, threatening to disappear into the folds of milky pearl completely.

Her minutely trembling tone, the hesitance to continue, the micro expressions of resigned despair flickering across her face: they all betray her true fear and weariness.

I still in my chair and wait for her to continue, somehow instinctively dreading what she will say next.

"Ran, you… you know how I'm the Gesso Nona? And you're the future Decimo?"

Mildly confused, I nonetheless nod obediently.

"And, and… you know what Bosses do, right? What the Mafia's like? How… how there's always an Inheritance Trial in order to become the next Boss?"

Even more puzzled, I nod again.

"Well, like I said, your Inheritance Trial is coming up. Coming up very fast. Too fast, really, I mean… you're just _8_, you're just a _child_, still! I… I… I can't just…" she broke down, unwilling, _unable_, to continue.

She gestures helplessly, frustrated, looking out of sorts and faintly bewildered.

It is the only instance I can recall of seeing her not being the epitome of assertion and neatness.

I glance away, inexplicably embarrassed and abashed at seeing her act of weakness, patiently letting her recover before continuing.

After a few moments, I look back up to her when she draws in a shuddery gasp and stumbles on, suddenly rushing, _pouring_ it out before she can stop.

"I honestly don't know why they're pushing so hard for you to replace me. They must think you're ready, I suppose, or maybe someone wants you out of the way. I'm not supposed to tell you anything about the Trial, but it's not a set rule. It's mostly just assumed that the current Boss wouldn't want the heir or heiress to have any advantage to let them win. But I _can't_ just condemn you to lose; you're my little orchid, Ran, and… and… I'd rather _die_ than let you be killed.

"Because you don't get it; I can't refuse the Trial to happen. It's been this way for ages, and the Mafia, the _Gesso_, they, they aren't… if both of us refuse, they'll simply kill both of us and find someone else to be Boss and heir. The Boss may be strong, but their subordinates will always outnumber them. I'm… I'm just really sorry it had to turn out like this, Ran. They'll be expecting me to show up for the meeting soon, so I can't stay any longer, but just know that you don't need to worry, okay? Trust in me this one last time; I'll take care of it. You'll be perfectly fine. As your mother to her son, trust me, and just wait. And remember… I love you."

Rubbing with one curled up fist at her rapidly reddening eyes, my mother abruptly turns and heads out the door, a soldier marching off to her grim and murky fate.

Feeling as if I have missed something important, I sit there for a second longer, staring uncomprehendingly, mutely, at her rapidly retreating back until she disappears altogether, a task gobbling up nary a single minute.

Then I slowly rise and walk contemplatively to my room to puzzle out the pent-up tangle of emotions warring in my heart and head, trying not to linger on the definite sense of wary apprehension that comes from my mother's ominous and cryptic words; her ominous and cryptic words that seem to feel like her _last_ words.

(And oh, how true that was, though my childishly innocent 8-year-old self doesn't recognize it like that in time, _at_ the time.)

All I know is that my beloved mother, who is by nature pragmatic and openly honest, has just babbled out a rush of words and fuzzy-around-the-edges warnings about my Inheritance Trial, which I have been looking forward to with all the eagerness of naivety.

/_Why is Madre so upset about my Trial?_

_Doesn't... doesn't she **want** me to be Boss?_/

* * *

_The Inheritance Trial comes in three days, three days too fast._

I have spent those three days mostly in a sulky silence, cooped up in my room, because of my mistaken belief that the reason my mother is so worried about the Trial is because she doesn't want me to be Boss.

Because she wanted to _stay_ Boss.

It... hurt, nastily so, to feel such imagined betrayal from one I have trusted my entire life, a life only made capable by her abilities, by her birthing.

(That can't have been more wrong, of course, but I didn't know, I didn't _realize_, what she really meant.

Until it was too late.

Until she'd already made her sacrifice_sacrifice__**sacrifice**_ and the hands of time were set in stone, chiseled out by the folly of humankind, a flawed species who should've never set foot out of Eden.)

It doesn't really help that she appears to be avoiding me.

Before, I will see her maybe a couple times each hour, quick moments snatched here and there.

A peck on the cheek, blink-and-you'll-miss-it embrace, tousle of hairs and confided little jokes, walking alongside her minions, er, I mean, her subordinates, in the hallways, or snapping out orders from her throne-like chair in her office, or trying to glare holes into her paperwork with laser eyes.

In those three days, I only see her maybe a half-dozen times, and those times are all little snippets and cut-off glimpses through the window's of my room that face out into the Gesso base's hallways.

She always looks fretful, preoccupied, her brow furrowed with tense thought and her hands constantly clenched into furious fists.

The one time she meets my eyes, she flinches and wears a look of intense guilt, and sorrow, and fierce_fierce__**fierce**_utter _love_, with a truly heartbreakingly tragic smile that whispers of worry and mutters of martyrdom.

(I am put under 'Room Lock-down' by the Gesso Advisory Council, who overrule my mother with a unanimous decision. Even her Guardians keep quiet and subdued, knowing that the rest of the Gesso are only loyal to the Famiglia as a whole, not to the Boss and the Guardians themselves.)

One the third day, around noon, a pair of nameless lackeys let me out of my room and escort me through the rabbit warren of twisting routes.

We stop in a section of the base that I've never wandered in before; a section that is declared off-limits for as long as I can remember, and the usually eager-to-please Gessos have earlier refused every time to tell me anything about it, no matter how many times I ask, or how long I work on my puppy-dog look.

The area is frigid, pristine, and smells strongly of antiseptics and obliterated hopes, much like a hospital.

Or a morgue.

I shiver lightly before the closed door, a primal part of me knowing instinctively to beware what lies beyond.

(It is painted white, just like nearly everything else in the base.

White appears to be the Gesso's favored color, and not just because all of their Bosses have traditionally inherited the dominant genes of white hair; indeed, I vaguely remember one of my Gesso nannies chanting a disturbing lullaby to me, once, when I was a toddler, that bore the eerie lines, 'it's easier to see bloodstains on white than black, and that's an honest-to-truthful fact, but blood bleeds the same from front and back, like a sharpened tongue lashing out with tact'.)

The two escorts stand behind me in the tiled hallway, watching me with expectant eyes.

'Go ahead', they urge. 'Open the door. Open the door to your doom. Don't worry, we'll make sure no one attacks you as you open the door. Of course, we'll also make sure that you don't try and run...'

Just for something to do, something to delay the inevitable, I slant my vision to the left, settling upon the room plaque that was definitely not there the past dozens of times I've crossed paths with it.

Room 100, _Inheritance Trial Testing,_ I read mentally.

A pointed cough from my back causes me to stiffen, before flushing a slight rosy tinge at my stalling.

My hand reaches for the doorknob; my fingers rest on the smooth, cool brass.

Then I jerk them away like they stung, stung with dread and fear and panic, before gritting my teeth and opening the door, fearing I'll never be able to if I think about the action any more.

* * *

_It is a large room, reminiscent of a testing room. _

To my left is a wall of glass, that is covered by a thin layer of pure diamond, and probably slicked over with a film of Flame-proof or Flame-resistant solution.

Nearly indestructible.

Behind the wall are the current Guardians, as well as several highly-ranked Gessos and people from the Gesso Advisory Council, all there to see the show and testify if anything goes horribly wrong.

(Or horribly, horribly _right_.)

I label that as the 'Spectator Half'.

The 'Trial Half' is the actual room where the Inheritance Trial is clearly supposed to take place.

It is surprisingly different from what I had thought that it would be; it is spartan, stark, and basically an empty white-washed concrete room with smooth surfaces and rounded edges.

My mother is already there, leaned up against the far wall and looking grimly determined.

She meets my eyes and wilts, before mouthing, 'Trust me. I'll get you out of this perfectly fine.'

Unsure of what to do, unsure of how to react to that, I step forward a few paces awkwardly and stop in the middle of the room, a few yards away from her.

Waiting for further instructions, I glance to the side.

The instructions come in the form of a large sign that the Head of the Council (a shrewdly cunning old man who I idolize-, no, who I have _formerly_ idolized as a grandfather of sorts) lifts up.

In clear, blunt, blocky black letters, it spells out with no uncertainty, "Kill the Boss to become Boss."

I gape in shock and freeze, paralyzed.

/_But, but, but… what!? I could never kill Madre!_/

Then a terrifying suspicion rises up within me, and I dart my eyes over to the only other figure in the 'Trial Half' with me.

/_Was that why she was…?_/

My mother suddenly moves towards me, and I tense, flinching away instinctively, eyes wide and certain that she is going to kill me.

Talented I am, skilled the instructors praise me, but still, I am no match for my mother, a strong Donna who has over my lifetime of years of experience fighting to gain respect and recognition in a subsociety ruled by male Bosses.

A sorrowful, bitter look slides over her face when she sees me flinch away, and she pauses.

"I see…" she says lowly, head bowed with her long white tresses cascading over and concealing her face.

"So now even my _own son_ shall fear me? Is _that_ what being Boss has reduced me to?"

No sound leaks out of my throat; how are you supposed to reply to something like _that?_

A despondent, self-deprecating laugh tears its way out of _her_ throat with jagged claws of desperation, however, and my mother sinks to her knees, bones trembling, staring up mournfully at me with those _eyes_, those eyes_eyes__**eyes**_, so terrifying similar in their resemblance to my own.

"Well, it won't matter very soon. Didn't I tell you not to worry, my little orchid? Mama will take care of it for you…"

She unleashes a bolt of pure Sky Flames directly at the wall of the 'Spectators Half', blasting straight through the Flame-proofing like it isn't even there, causing a large explosion and thickly obscuring cloud of smoke, granting us some measure of flimsy privacy.

All without taking her eyes off of me, like she is trying to commit my features to memory.

(And maybe she is, maybe she was.

Now I'll never know, will I?)

"...one way or the other."

As I watch, still frozen and paralyzed in shock, she forms a tightly controlled, intensified and condensed "blade" of Flames around her right fist, before lunging forward, grabbing my hand, and forcing my hand to plunge hers directly into her heart.

* * *

_She falls limply to the ground, a mere marionette who has finally freed itself from the ensnaring strings of its masters._

She falls limply to the ground, a cherished mother who has finally freed herself and her son from the manipulations of the Gesso.

She falls limply to the ground, a faithfully devoted Boss who has finally freed herself and her beloved progeny and her Guardians from their honor-bound duties to those who seek to control them.

I stagger forward numbly, caught off guard, using my other hand to reach for her body and shake it with trembling fingers, trying to revive some of that spark and resolve that has kept her going all these years. She looks directly into my eyes, and then curled her lips into a blood-splattered grimace of a grin.

Her arms flop to her sides, and her fingers twitch, as if wanting to reach up and stroke the side of my face one more time.

Too lost to give her that last wish, I instead bend over and tighten my grip, horror-struck eyes looking back at her and my own hand, sunk deep into her flesh.

/_Don'tgodon'tgo**nodon'tgoandleavemealone...!**_/

She simply grimace-grins harder, vicious and victorious and vindictive (but not at me, her eyes are already glassing over and clouding in, unfocusing, confused, dazed in the worst possible way).

"Not my finest hit, hmm? Should've aimed for the head; instant death and much less messy and mentally traumatic for you. See, kid, the thing about life is, no one gets out alive. At least now you have a bit longer until 'game over'. Let an old woman indulge her son, eh?" she jokes in a cracked, whispery croak, with her usual morbid (now literally) sense of gruesome humor.

Then her eyes soften, melt around the edges, wearing away the crusted crusts of life's hardships.

"But hey, remember, your Madre loved you, okay? Change the Trial for me, change the Gesso for me, heck, change the _world_ for me, why don't you? You've got it in you to be _great… _just like your old Madre, heh. And I promised you'd be perfectly fine, my little white orchid. No, _Byakuran_, the Gesso Decimo. I promised…"

Her voice trails off, and her grimace-grin smoothes out into a serenely tender smile.

"I died for you, my son, so live for me, alright now? Smile for me. The only thing I regret is not telling you about the Trial earlier..."

And, with a ghost of a peaceful exhale that tickles warmly against Byakuran's right cheek, Bianca ("White") Gesso, the Gesso Nona, sags as all her Dying Will Flames escape from her body, leaving behind a corpse with a small, pale hand still stuck in her heavily scorched chest cavity.

She died with a whisper, not with a shout, and it all seems so _wrong_.

The smokescreen finally disperses, just in time for the people in the 'Spectator Half' to view the scene of a wide-eyed heir clutching the clearly dead remains of the Nona Boss, one hand still _in_ her singed heart.

Some stifled cries erupt from those who have been close to Bianca.

I pay them no mind, instead wrenching my hand out and focusing on the _corpse_ of my _very much _dead_gone__**deserted**__**nevergoingtocomebackandsmile**_ mother.

"M-M-madre? _Madre?_ _**MADRE!**_"

/_No, you can't just… you can't just go ahead and **die** like that! I… I never got to tell you how sorry I was for flinching away, for ever, **ever** believing, even for a **split second**, that you could possibly want to attack me. ... I never got to tell you, '**I love you too**...'_/

But I don't say any of that. I _can't_, not with everyone staring and analyzing and watching_whispering__**wondering**_.

So instead, all I say, burying my head into her cold, cold chest, with my words muffled right into her burnt heart, is, "You were right. _I'm_ perfectly fine. But why couldn't _you_ have been perfectly fine, too…?"

Then all of a sudden I am crying.

Crying the kind of tears dredged up by the jagged, hurtful remains of painfully wishful dreams, distorted and finally cracked, time after agony-filled time.

Crying the kind of tears where you can't do anything but _sob,_ _sob your goddamned heart out_, because you know, you just _know_ it won't get better.

Crying the kind of tears that blistered like hellfire and were as salty as sin, but oh, _oh, _they felt so _good_ to that deep, primal part of you no one wants to admit they have.

(At the very, very, very back of my mind, I note with a numb sort of detachment that bloodstains _are_ easier to see on white than black.)

* * *

_After a while, nearly everyone has filed out solemnly._

My mother's Rain Guardian (_no_, I remind myself hollowly, _my mother's __**former**__ Rain Guardian_) approaches my position gingerly, the way you would handle a spooked horse.

She touches my shoulder, lighter than a pixie landing, and crouches down until she can whisper into my ear.

"Hey, little Decimo," she murmurs softly, eyes downcast.

A pause comes, before she continues with choked, trembling voice.

"Hey, it's gonna be okay. None of the Guardians blame you; Bianca already told us of her plan beforehand. We protested, of course, but you know how she is; how she _was_. Adamant that she had to do this, had to protect you. Stubborn as a cat who was confronted with a bath.

"Ah, but… but that was all part of her charm, you know? Her charisma. That thing that inspired all of us to follow her to the ends of earth and back. Heck, even now, we'd probably all willingly suicide just to follow her into death, if she hadn't told us not to, before she entered the Trial Room.

'Live for me,' she said. 'Don't go and disgrace my memory by stupidly _dying_ for me, that's not the fucking _point_ you bunch of _idiotas_.' So I guess my point is… it's not the end of the world. Not yet. There's still stuff to be done and mundane everyday routines to be fulfilled. And though you'll have to find your own Guardians, and though all of us former Guardians will probably disperse and maybe even vanish from the Mafia, if you ever need us or want us to come for a cuppa and a nice long chat about Bianca, we're here for you. One way or another."

Her touch remains there for a few more moments, as they commiserate in silent mourning of the wonderful woman who had existed as Bianca Gesso, mentor, student, leader, coworker, _madre_.

I clear my throat awkwardly.

"Th-thank you," I mutter.

"That... means a lot."

(_It's a lie, it's all a lie, nothing means anything to me right now, nothing means anything except Madre's corpse which means everything and the world_-)

Though I can't see her, I can sense that the Rain is smiling.

(Chiara Corvi, 35, 5' 4'', wildly curly black chin-length hair, lean and long and lanky, darkly tanned skin, smile-lines around her angular face, intense brown eyes and thick lashes, been a freelance thief since age 9, been the Gesso Nona Rain Guardian since age 19, probably Madre's best friend and closest confidante...

And my godmother.

Who apparently won't be sticking around after my mother died.

If I were any less in shock, I'd feel enormously angry, and more than my fair share of bitter resentment.

As it is...

I can sort of get where she's coming from.

I don't really want to linger here either, and see traces of Madre wherever I go.

But I don't want to forget Madre either.

I don't _ever_ want to forget Madre.)

She squeezes my shoulder once more, and then lets go.

"My pleasure, little Decimo."

And she leaves.

Just like that.

Just like that, my godmother is gone, along with, probably, the rest of the Nona Generation Guardians.

The rest of my mother's most intimate connections.

(Arturo "Art" Bassi, 37, 5' 9'', stick-straight strawberry blonde buzz-cut hair, lithe and languid and lady-killer, olive skin, an unfortunately crooked nose for his otherwise handsome clean-shaven features, dark blue eyes and a charming wink, been a military brat since birth, been the Gesso Nona Storm Guardian since age 16, takes the role of Main Gesso Negotiator.

Caseareo "Casear" Alamanni, 35, 5' 10'', wavy wheat-brown 'Brit pop crop', cool and calm and considerate, 'golden glow' skin, classic 'chiseled' features, serious amber eyes and slight bags under them, been an 'errand boy' since age 10, been the Gesso Nona Lightning Guardian since age 18, takes the unofficial role of Madre's go-to lawyer and walkin' talkin' legal referencebook.

Flavia "Vi" Donati, 34, 5' 5'', stuffy ol' mint-green librarian bun, deceptive and darling and dreamy, pale skin, plain face, heliotrope-purple and perpetually wide eyes, been a drifting artist since age 13, been the Gesso Nona Mist Guardian since age 17, takes the role of drafting up legally binding contracts.

Guglielmo "Elmo" Leoni, 36, tousled dark brown curls, witty and winning and warm, sunkissed skin, a thin white tracery of scars across the left side of his sharply-defined face, bright green eyes with the right one being darker than the other, been an orphan apprenticed to a gun-maker since age 5, been the Gesso Nona Sun Guardian since age 20, takes the role of judiciously sniping all that need to be sniped and pistol-whipping those who underestimate the sniper.

Rinaldo "Rin" Montagna, 33, smooth black shoulder-length hair gathered into a neat ponytail, sweet and sly and seraphic, perfectly maintained fair skin, delicate and rather androgynous features on a heart-shaped face, holly-green left eye and glacier-blue right eye with fluttery feathery ravenwing lashes, been a cafe waiter and barkeeper (sometimes waitress and crossdressing barkeeper if need be) since age 15, been the Gesso Nona Cloud Guardian since age 21, takes the unofficial role of 'seducing and confusing the hell out of everyone when the stunning-woman turns into a drop-dead-gorgeous-man stabbing you until _you're_ dead'.

[Rinaldo takes on 'Rin' as his typical alias, and crossdresses on a daily basis, at ease with either fashion and moniker. Also refuses to shorten his unofficial role.])

And I am alone again, cradling a corpse with a bloody hand.

/_I'll do those things you asked, Mama. I'll do them for you. I** swear** I'll do them…_

_... **with my Dying Will**._/

* * *

**. . . **

* * *

A touch of wistfulness strikes Byakuran at the end of his reminiscing, as he looks down and flexes his fingers, covered in ghostly remnants of blood from blood.

(_The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb._

_No._

_No, it isn't._

_The blood of the womb is **far** thicker than the water of the covenant._)

If only Bianca hadn't been a Boss and loving mother who cared too much.

If only his father hadn't been a classified assassin who'd been murdered before he was born.

If only he hadn't been a heir who was so blind_blind__**blind**_ to everything.

Because, really, that's what it'd been.

If only.

Shaking it off as more "what-if" fantasies, the white-haired teen lowers his head and spins his chair, until he is facing the only picture that hangs on his office's white, white walls.

(_Blood is easier to see on white than black-!_)

Byakuran closes his eyes.

(A picture of a stern but smiling white-headed female with lavender eyes and a face eerily similar to the one he sees whenever he chances upon a mirror.)

(There is a reason he never allows mirrors in his offices or bedrooms. They all remind him too much of her.)

/_Hey, Mamma. I met a real interesting person today. Someone I couldn't predict and plan for too well. It was… refreshing. Had to watch my toes around her, you could say. Ah… if you could say. Sometimes… sometimes, I wonder what you'd say of me now? I wonder what you'd think of me now… I try, I really do, but sometimes I just look at myself and wonder if I'm actually managing any progress towards what you wanted from me. If it was what you wanted from me…_/

And on that lonely Friday night, Byakuran grieves, with a weighted heart and a weightier mind.

He grieves for the figure who had once been so vibrant_strong__**alive**_.

Then he stands up, stretches once, twice, and yawns, before heading outside with "happy" crescent eyes and a curved smile, to give out orders and micromanage endlessly.

/_I'm still living for you, __Madre__. I'm still smiling for you. Would you smile at my life right now?_/

_Fizzle._

_Pop._

_Burst._

* * *

_**Revised 7/4/15.**_

_**Added: Nona's Guardians, present tense, flower thing, simplified quote, bits and pieces here 'n there, Mamma=Madre.**_

_**#**_

_**#**_

_**#**_

_**And here you have it, folks, more character insight and depressing flashbacks that cause you to pity the "villain"! The writing style is a bit different in this chapter... dunno how, it just popped up like that.**_

_**#**_

_**~Please Review~**_

_**~I live for reading reviews like Hibari lives for biting herbivores (or omnivores or carnivores or small animals; he doesn't really discriminate) to death.~**_


	5. Clarification

**Summary:**

_Fran's not dumb; she can tell she's only a replacement. She's Yuni's elder sister, but it was official that Yuni would be Boss after Aria died; it's clear everyone liked her kind, gracious and cheery attitude over Fran's indifferent, cold and cynical one. Yuni was the trusting, benevolent "Aria's daughter". Fran was the suspicious, bitter "spitting image of Aria's husband". She's even born with the "wrong" Flame; a strong primary Mist and a weak secondary Sky. But now that Yuni's vanished, Fran's the (grudging) Giglio Nero Boss, and will be the one meeting with Gesso. She's got a bad feeling about their Boss, though; Byakuran's intrigued by a Fran who differs from her parallel selves. Meanwhile, Yuni being gone has a greater significance than any of them realize. TYL!Fran, Fem!Fran, Very AU._

**Disclaimer:**

_KHR! rights go to Akira Amano._

_The cover picture is not mine. It belonged to an insanely talented deviantart artist who I have no way of contacting, so please don't sue me._

* * *

**Reviews:**

_Thank you, '__**Guest**__', for your review. Um, okay, it was, well, blunt, but yeah, she did. I can't specify which it was until we get there in the plot, though, but it means a lot that you decided to review and take a guess. :]_

_Thank you, '__**flamelily274**__', for your review. Again, I'm trying to avoid stating it outright until the story catches up to there, but thank you anyways for deciding to review. Every bit counts~! :] And I suppose your guess depends on whether you meant the present, future, past, parallel… etc._

_Thank you, '__**ADDBaby**__', for your review. (Always a pleasure to see faithful reviewers. ^^ ) It definitely made me smile and burst out into a fit of insane laughter that had __my__ mother drop by, too. Though her reaction was more of an, "WHY ARE YOU READING AGAIN AND NOT DOING MATH!?" -Le Sigh- It's the 'True Asian Parent Stereotypes', I believe. And yes, my purpose here on Earth is to extort as many dramatic rants and flailing 'feels' out of people as possible; what can I say? I seem to be only able to write angst, and if enjoying someone else's emotional turmoil makes me sadistic, than so be it. ;]_

_Thank you, '__**Someonepassingby**__', for your review. (Again, always a pleasure to see repeat reviewers. ^^ ) If Iemitsu hadn't already taken up all of the space to become a star, maybe… ;]. Ah, the joys of hashtags. I hope the sofa's comfy, though; I'll be trying to update every day, but 'In Another Life' is being stubborn and not giving any good inspiration. Because, like, how would someone (a.k.a. a knife-wielding giggling prince) realistically form a bond with their prisoner and kind-of sworn enemy (a.k.a. a monotone-drone snarky tealette "mushroom-head")? But then again, this is __manga__ and __anime__: it doesn't have to make sense when a teen can suddenly come back to life and strip with mysterious flames burning on his forehead._

* * *

**Quotes:**

"_That question was so redundant it shouldn't even be dignified with a proper answer." - Fran_

"_You were quite the 'top magician' in your other worlds, you know; one of the only three illusionists able to fool the Vindice, too!" - Byakuran_

"_It's not being 'accusing', it's being realistic with a healthy dose of self-preservation. I may find the world boring at times, but that doesn't mean I'd rather be a foolhardy idiot who mistakes 'stupid arrogance' as 'noble courage'." - Fran_

_Fran mentally noted that he'd never explained what he would've done instead of 'offing' her. She also mentally noted, with a hint of irritation, to figure out when he'd started calling her 'my little black lily'. And damnit, would he stop with the flower puns already? - Fran_

_"The green-haired guy with the girly hair, correct?" - Fran_

_"So, are you just going to sit there and bask in the wonder of another Mare Ring, or or you going to, you know, actually pick it up and take it?" - Fran_

* * *

"Oh?~ So you're actually going to hand over the Mare Rings?"

Fran stared blankly at the grinning Gesso (and soon Millefiore) Boss. "That question was so redundant it shouldn't even be dignified with a proper answer," she deadpanned in reply.

Byakuran just grinned wider and popped in a marshmallow, from the bowl of them in between their respective positions.

**. . .**

The two Bosses, Decimo and Decima, were currently situated around a classic wooden business table, one on each side, facing each other directly in plushly padded armchairs.

The nondescript office they were in was one of the many, many rooms installed in the main Millefiore base. Everyone had just gathered and moved in temporarily today; they would presumably be informed deeper about how the Millefiore would be run, before being assigned into their squads and given directions to their assigned bases.

It would just be plain bad tactics to have nearly everyone in one building, after all (though their HQ _would_ still hold more people and high-ranks than the average).

Byakuran's future plans of easily overwhelming Vongola HQ could stand testament to that fact. (Well, after it happens, of course, since it was still "future" plans.)

(Fran assumed that either the Millefiore bases have already been built long before she had had her meeting with Byakuran, or they had simply been able to be constructed in less than four days because of Box or other technology. Ah, the wonders of having a technological genius on your side; "genii" now, kinda, since Spanner from the Giglio Nero would be joining with Shoichi from the Gesso.

Personally, she was leaning towards the first possibility; Byakuran probably had planned ahead with knowledge from his parallels.

And yes, of course she knew what the Sky Mare Ring did; she knew what _all_ of them did. The Rings _had_ belonged to the Giglio Neros, and she _had_ been a potential Boss candidate, if not the most obviously favored one. It was only expected that she'd know everything about the Giglio Nero legacies in and out, word-for-word understood and memorized.)

But now this is off-track.

_Anyway…_

So yeah, now the two Bosses were having a private discussion in Meeting Room 26, supposedly to further discuss the merger of the two Famiglias into the Millefiore.

It ended up being mostly Byakuran trying to annoy/rile up Fran while covertly arranging for greater influence/control, and Fran trying to actually stay calm/on topic while not-so-covertly pushing back for more equal influence/control.

They'd just gotten somewhere and were making some definite decisions, when the matter of the Mare Rings as the cincher had been brought up.

Fran had accordingly reached up to her puffy mushroom hat, tugged one of the tassels, and then slipped something out of the hat's tucked brim. She'd stretched out her hand in a curled-up fist and displayed it on the table. "Here," she'd than stated bluntly.

And that's where Byakuran asked, and Fran deadpanned, and here we all are now.

(You're welcome for the recap, by the way. Lucky for you, I won't charge a fee like Mammon.)

**. . . **

"And how can I tell if they are the real Rings?" he questioned mildly, peering down critically at her closed fingers, which weren't bulging enough to possibly hold 6 rings, no matter the size.

Fran scoffed but didn't open her fingers. Yet.

"You should automatically be able to tell upon sight of their authenticity, since you hold the Sky Mare Ring. And yes, I'm really planning to hand them over. Of course, I still don't trust you and you likely don't have much faith in my word, either, so I'm not going to give them to you all at once. It'd be far too easy for you to just take them, plan a rather suspicious 'accident' for me, and then just assume supreme power over the Millefiore."

Byakuran smiled, lacking his usual cheer. He laid his fingers into a pyramid shape on the table and leaned forward slightly, focusing on his counterpart's blank teal eyes. "Hmm? My, how accusing of you, Francy-chan. Then what are you giving me? And what would prevent me from doing that, anyway? Finding a few rings shouldn't be too hard without interference, no?"

"It's not being 'accusing', it's being realistic with a healthy dose of self-preservation. I may find the world boring at times, but that doesn't mean I'd rather be a foolhardy idiot who mistakes 'stupid arrogance' as 'noble courage'. And the answer is simple. I'll give you a Ring each month, which should give me half a year to establish something of a solid foothold and a working relationship in the Millefiore.

"If you do off me, your chances of finding the Rings without me are close to nil. I've already taken precautions, since the moment I left your office door last Friday. By the time your proposed alliance and merger contract arrived on Monday, which was yesterday, I had already wrapped them all in Mammon Chains to conceal their power, and hidden them in various places only I know of. Just as a safety measure, I even buried them under layers and layers of my finest illusions.

"And trying to get into my mind or trick me into revealing where they are won't work, either, no matter what drug or guilt-trip or illusion you try to use on me. Illusionists are masters of the mind, after all; I've put in a specially triggered block in my mind that prevents me from relaying where the locations are, even willingly. Mind-scape or dream invasions won't help, either. It's not arrogance if you have the skill to back it up, so I can confidently say that I'm skilled enough to prevent or fight off any intruders," Fran finished, with a tinge of smugness in her carefully monotone drone.

To her muted surprise, Byakuran nodded agreeably, unlacing his fingers from the triangle shape and idly examinging one of his nails.

"Of course, Francy-chan~ I have absolute faith in your Mist abilities, actually. You were quite the 'top magician' in your other worlds, you know; one of the only three illusionists able to fool the Vindice, too! So no need to fear, my little black lily. Even without your extremely detailed safety measures, I wouldn't have, ahem, 'offed' you to get to the Rings, as you referred to it as. Co-ruling is a new experience for me, yes, but I never said it was one that I wasn't willing to try."

(Fran mentally noted that he'd never explained what he would've done instead of 'offing' her. She also mentally noted, with a hint of irritation, to figure out when he'd started calling her '_my_ little black lily'. And _damnit_, would he _stop_ with the flower puns already?)

He leaned in his chair and crossed his arms behind his head, the very picture of leisure. Creasing his lavender irises into his signature happy-crescent-eyes, Byakuran smiled serenely. His gaze was still sharp and clear, though, upon her clenched fist. "So," he prompted, tilting his head to indicate. "What's the Ring of the Month?"

"Well," Fran said, slowly uncurling her fingers. "I assumed that you'd want the Ring for the 'leader' of your Funeral Wreaths, first. The green-haired guy with the girly hair, correct?"

At Byakuran's suddenly alert and piercing look, she amended, "I found out from my 'Clairvoyance'."

He appeared to retract back into his former state of lazily listening, so Fran continued, fully unveiling the Ring in her hand. "Therefore, the…"

"Cloud Mare Ring!" Byakuran interrupted, unfolding his crossed arms and scooting closer for a better look.

The bright lights of the meeting room glinted off of the silver ring, lying placidly on Fran's palm. It had the wings of the Sky Mare Ring, though it's weren't noticeably outstretched, and they seemed to be folded up, like curved vaguely-angelic wings at rest. A perfectly rounded purple oval gemstone was set in the center, affixed in place by the 'claws' of the wings.

A few seconds passed. Then Fran spoke up again, blandly, as if she weren't sarcastically insulting her colleague. "So, are you just going to sit there and bask in the wonder of another Mare Ring, or or you going to, you know, actually pick it up and take it? Or have you changed your mind? Because if you don't want it, I could always just take it back..."

Byakuran accidentally let a scowl slip through because of his irritation, and lunged for the Mare Ring, stopping Fran from slowly moving her arm back. Swiping the silver ring, he secured it into his pocket, and then smoothly recovered his usual smile.

"Well, now that that unpleasant piece of business is over, shall we talk assignments?" He walked over to the filing cabinet behind him, and retrieved a large cardboard box full of papers, dumping it unceremoniously on the table. Clearing away his now-empty marshmallow bowl to the side, Byakuran shifted the box so that he and Fran could clearly view each other.

Fran muttered her reluctant assent, and the two began the long and tedious mission of reading through character profiles, selecting squads and ranks, assigning them their base, and other mundane but necessary tasks.

* * *

At the end of the day, tired but triumphant, they headed out in tandem to post the list of said squads, ranks, bases, etc.

Fran was just privately proud of what she'd managed to get accomplished, and who she'd managed to snag for her 'Gray Spell'.

Unfortunately, they had to keep that standard 'Spell' uniform, except in shades of a light gray (for the lower-ranks), dove gray (for the middlers), and ash gray (for the higher-uppers).

As captain, however, she apparently got the choice of wearing whatever she wanted.

So, Fran decided to keep her Giglio Nero hat (as per tradition), and her cloak (because, hey, she got cold easily, okay?). They were dyed an ash-gray, though, to fit her 'Spell'. Her usual gray sweater-dress and black leggings alternated every other day with the actual uniform, minus the shoulder protectors.

For the meantime, her black boots stayed, as did her disguised scepter/bo staff.

However, Byakuran _did_ mention something about "Flame-powered Flight Boots" under development in the labs, and she was interested in getting Shoichi and Spanner to upgrade her bo staff, along with coercing some Lightning Users into Hardening her entire wardrobe…

But it would do. It was only the first day, after all, and Fran could wait.

For now, she'd be content with settling for going to bed (in her new, spacious, and heavily-secure private suite) as the new co-Boss of the Millefiore, and as the Captain of Gray Spell Squad #1, along with being the de facto commanding authority of Gray Spell Squads #5, 10, 11, 13, 16.

(She'll have to evaluate and select the Captains as soon as possible tomorrow, Fran reminded herself as she drifted off to a pleasant daze in her mind-scape…)

* * *

_**#**_

_**#**_

_**#**_

_**Sadly (for me, but maybe not for you), there is a noticeable deficiency of heart-wrenching, tear-inducing 'feels'. I feel woefully unaccomplished as**_

_**an author right now.**_

* * *

_**It's mostly information, and setting up the basic structure of the Millefiore. **_

_**Note: It's mostly the same squads, other than this. **_

_**I avoided making squads with canon!captains as 'Gray Spell'. And 'Sho-chan' has been relegated to 3rd squad, which means canon!3rd squard was essentially switched with canon!2nd squad, to make sure the first three squads have a diverse representation (White, Gray, Black). **_

_**Some squads with were switched from White to Black and had their canon!members shuffled around, because I wanted to have an equal 6/6/6 split between them. Also, Genkishi's White, now, not Black, because Fran kicked him out of the Giglio Nero.**_

_**(By the way, all of the information below was my customized version of the reborn wikia's Millefiore Famiglia page. Check it out for the Canon!Squads, if you want.)**_

* * *

_**So now it's:**_

_**-0th Squad (Paphiopedilum): Captain Byakuran, White, Byakuran's bodyguards (- canon!members)**_

_**-1st Squad (Calendula): Captain Frances, Gray, N/A**_

_**-2nd Squad (Rosa): Captain Gamma, Black, Tazaru and Nosaru**_

_**-3rd Squad (Aphelandra): Captain Irie, White, Genkishi**_

_**-4th Squad (Ciclamino): Captain N/A, Black, N/A**_

_**-5th Squad (Odontoglossum): Captain N/A, Gray, N/A**_

_**-6th Squad (Mughetto): Captain N/A, White, Leonardo Lippi**_

_**-7th Squad (Fiore del Cotone): Captain N/A, White, Baishana**_

_**-8th Squad (Glicine): Captain Glo Xinia, White, Ginger Bread and Cappuccino**_

_**-9th Squad (Girasole): Captain N/A, Black, Nigella Beankabul**_

_**-10th Squad (Nigella): Captain N/A, Gray, N/A**_

_**-11th Squad (Viola): Captain N/A, Gray, N/A**_

_**-12th Squad (Camellia): Captain N/A, White, Iris and Death Stalk Unit**_

_**-13th Squad (Balsamina): Captain N/A, Gray, N/A**_

_**-14th Squad (Tulipano): Captain N/A, Black, N/A**_

_**-15th Squad (Dente Di Leone): Captain N/A, Black, N/A**_

_**-16th Squad (Rhododendron): Captain N/A, Gray, N/A**_

_**-17th Squad (Aquilegia): Captain N/A, Black, N/A**_

_**And 18th Squad is game-only, apparently, so that's not here.**_

* * *

_**#**_

_**#**_

_**Sorry if anyone thought this would be a super long chapter because of the length. Yeah, no. It's just the list! :]**_

_**#**_

_**~Please Review~**_

_**~I like reviews even more than Kyoko likes cakes and emitting random sparkly auras!~ And, you know, even more than Haru likes stalking Tsuna... 0wo**_


	6. Explanation

**Summary:**

_Fran's not dumb; she can tell she's only a replacement. She's Yuni's elder sister, but it was official that Yuni would be Boss after Aria died; it's clear everyone liked her kind, gracious and cheery attitude over Fran's indifferent, cold and cynical one. Yuni was the trusting, benevolent "Aria's daughter". Fran was the suspicious, bitter "spitting image of Aria's husband". She's even born with the "wrong" Flame; a strong primary Mist and a weak secondary Sky. But now that Yuni's vanished, Fran's the (grudging) Giglio Nero Boss, and will be the one meeting with Gesso. She's got a bad feeling about their Boss, though; Byakuran's intrigued by a Fran who differs from her parallel selves. Meanwhile, Yuni being gone has a greater significance than any of them realize. TYL!Fran, Fem!Fran, Very AU._

**Disclaimer:**

_KHR! rights go to Akira Amano._

_The cover picture is not mine. It belonged to an insanely talented deviantart artist who I have no way of contacting, so please don't sue me._

* * *

**Reviews:**

_Thank you, '__**ADDBaby**__', for your review. Undoubtedly, if Fran saw the pictures she'd probably be like, 'Okay, like, I realize I haven't seen you in years, but I was pretty sure you were mostly sane as my little sister, Yuni. So why are you emailing me a picture of a girly-boy with outrageously spiky star-shaped/hedgehog-shaped hair and telling me it's fluffy tuna? Is that, like, a new species of fish or something? Are they putting kids in petting zoos now? Oh, and, if you can somehow send me pictures, than WHERE ARE YOU AND WHY YOU LEAVE ME TO THE MARSHMALLOWS?! AREN"T YOU SUPPOSED TO BE THE NICE ONE HERE!? CURSE YOU! Oh, wait, you're already cursed, nevermind...'. But don't worry, the chapters from here on have significantly less angsty 'feels' in them. :]_

* * *

**Quotes:**

"_I didn't want to overthink it, so I flipped a coin and here we are." - Fran_

"_So, it seems that public speaking and acting confident still gives you cramps, huh, 'Sho-chan'? One would think you were the girl here, what with your constant PMS-ing…" - Fran_

"_And why does everyone else in the Millefiore seem to use honorifics, too? I mean, seriously, last time I checked, we were two merged Italian Famiglias." - Fran _

* * *

"Month two," Fran reminded Byakuran, passing by his desk to drop a small object onto the surface, before turning to leave his office.

"The Storm Mare Ring?" he queried, scooping it up to examine with curious eyes. Glancing up, he asked, "I'm very pleased with the promptness, of course, but why the Storm Ring of all choices? Does it… have to do with your 'Clairvoyance'?"

She stopped, hesitated, and then sighed before turning back around to take a seat in front of him, resigning herself to a few more minutes of explanation. "Well," Fran replied blandly, "since we're officially allies and all, I suppose it should be okay if I tell you a little about the famed 'Giglio Nero Clairvoyance'.

"It manifests differently in every person who gets it, you know, and only those from Sepira's bloodline can inherit it. Sepira's the founder, in case you didn't realize. So I guess you could say it's kinda like the Vongola Hyper Intuition.

"I only personally know how it manifested in three people: Aria, me, and… Yuni."

Fran paused to check if he was listening.

He was.

And privately, Byakuran wanted to question her why she called Aria by her name instead of 'my mother' or some variant of the title.

However, he liked to think that he knew his colleague well enough after a month to tell that she would immediately clam up and refuse to give him an answer.

Or refuse to tell him anything about the 'Clarivoyance', too, and simply leave to go sulk for a while.

(Well, it wasn't really 'sulking', per say, as Fran would be horrified to have someone even _insinuate_ that she would ever _'sulk'_, but it was what he labeled those moments when she's go off in a fury and works off stress in the training rooms.)

"Continue," Byakuran gestured with a smile, closing his eyes into that crescent shape that he could tell always irritated her.

Fran held back a scowl and did so. "Aria's 'Clairvoyance' was famous among the Giglio Neros for being the best and clearest in generations. I'm pretty good myself, but I'm still not close to her level of mastery yet. I don't think I ever _can_ be, because it's mostly instinctual and differs from each manifestation, so there's no standard to measure it by," she admitted, looking slightly uncomfortable.

The white-haired teen knew that the tealette _hated_ showing weakness of any sort, much like him, so he stayed quiet and accepted the little tidbit of trust as it was.

"Since she's dead, it won't matter if I tell you about her brand of 'Clairvoyance'. I still don't know too much in-depth detail about the manifestations of others, though, and the details I _do_ know, I probably won't tell you, because each individual's 'Clarivoyance' abilities are usually kept secret and guarded.

"It's generally accepted that Aria saw visions of the present and possible futures, and had a 'conscience-like' voice in her head. There's nothing known about whether she could control them or not, however. But if I had to take a guess, I'd say that she couldn't, from how she'd react to them. They came and went, and she just tried to make the best decisions.

"Yuni had the visions, too, and good instincts. Good enough to be a watered-down Intuition. She always seemed to have an idea of what was going to happen to her before it did, you know?

"And mine…" she darted another glance at him, obviously assessing whether or not she could trust him. Byakuran just smiled and spread his hands out in a symbol of peace.

"Mine… mine's also pretty respected among the Giglio Neros. It's the most reliable one, anyway," Fran added with a touch of pride. "I can receive visions or a general feeling of what to expect in the future. It's the most reliable one because… well, I can just kinda '_ask_', and it'll… narrow it down? Something like that, so I usually receive the most likely outcomes. Useful to filter out the more obscure and unlikely happenings.

"So yeah, that's 'Clairvoyance' for you. I chose to give the Storm Mare Ring this month because I could already see the most likely Funeral Wreaths that you'd choose. At the time, of course, so I suppose it would change if you decided to choose different Funeral Wreaths.

"Anyway, since I already gave you the Cloud Ring for the green-haired 'leader' guy with the girly hairstyle, I have the options of Storm, Sun, Rain, Mist, and Lightning.

"Your Sun is unhinged and thus the Sun Mare Ring would be an advantage I'm not willing to grant so fast.

"Your Mist is basically a cursed mask right now that I'm fairly certain you haven't found yet, and I wanted to save the Mist Ring for last since it's the ring I mostly use to channel my Mist Flames. A-ranked rings are still a step down.

"And your Lightning is, well, in Vendicare." She finished off with an indifferent shrug. "That leaves Storm or Rain. I didn't want to overthink it, so I flipped a coin and here we are."

/Well, that was simple. And logical in a rather strange way,/ Byakuran thought. He smiled again, and tossed up the winged ring before catching it again. "Well, then, thank you for your explanation, Francy-chan. Don't you have paperwork to do now?"

Fran didn't hold back her scowl this time. "Tch, I _would_ be in my own office right now if you hadn't needed my reasoning behind which Ring to give," she huffed, before standing up from the chair and brushing off her ash-gray Giglio Nero cloak and similarly ash-gray 'Gray Spell' uniform underneath.

She was about to leave, her hand already positioned a few inches away from the scanner, when she suddenly paused and looked back.

Byakuran raised an eyebrow (and ate a marshmallow) and tilted his head, confused at her actions.

"There's been... a rumor about Yuni, though. I mean, it shouldn't matter since she's probably already... gone, but you might want to know... that... that for a while, some people thought she could read others' mind and their feelings. And... and the one time I asked her about it, she described an ability to 'see from eyes like mine but different'. It... it sounded like she could also see parallel worlds..."

Trailing off, Fran then shrugged and didn't meet his eyes. She placed her hand on the scanner and the lock lit up green, causing the door to click open. "Just a thought," she offhandedly remarked, before disappearing from sight.

The white-haired teen, left alone behind his desk, clenched a fist around the Storm Ring and rested his chin on it, lavender eyes opening once more. "Read minds and parallels, hmm…? ...Better prepare some contingency plans. Just...in...case..."

* * *

/Paperwork, paperwork, paperwork, _more_ paperwork.../ Teal irises narrowed upon the piece of black-lettered paper. A slick, sinuous flick of a calligraphy pen sprouted another perfectly looping signature. After imbuing it with a very tensy tinge of Mist and Sky Flames to assure the recipients of it's authenticity, Fran got up from her chair and stretched with a yawn.

"There," she muttered, cracking her neck from side to side, and hearing the satisfying click-click-click sound of vertebrae shifting. "All the urgent and high-security paperwork looked through and signed for today."

Pressing the red intercom button that linked to the Secretarial Room next door, Fran cleared her throat before snapping out her orders in a monotone voice.

"Start message: 'I'm done with paperwork for today. Collect the stack on my desk, and clear away the stack on the floor. I'm delegating the stack on the floor for you to finish before night shift comes on at 11 p.m. I'll be out, so put any new work into my in-box bin and record visits and requests like usual. If you really need to find me, tell them I'll be around base, probably in the training rooms supervising. Oh, and clean up the empty cups on my desk and refill my jar with guava candies. ...That's it, I believe.' Stop message."

Now confident that things would be running smoothly in her absence, especially with her startlingly efficient (and hand-approved) secretaries/subordinates on office duty, Fran absently reached up to adjust her Giglio Nero ash-gray mushroom-hat out of habit.

Crossing the room, she splayed her fingers flat against the door scanner and infused them with a thin coating of Mist and Sky Flames; her 'personal touch' as an added security precaution. A few seconds later, it lit up green and the doors slid open to reveal the white-tiled hallways.

Fran headed out, listening to the doors near-silently slide shut behind her, and to the muted tap-tap-tapping sounds of her boots.

Speaking of boots… didn't the labs promise that they'd have a working prototype of the new 'Flame Boots' ready by now?

Change of plans, then.

Switching directions, Fran arrived shortly at the entrance of the main labs. Another hand-scanner later, she was in.

"Are the boots done? Report!" she demanded curtly, surveying the large room. It was full of machinery and long tables, with a strong scent of antiseptics in the air. Mostly White Spell members were working as the researchers and engineers. One of them, who appeared to be heading the other members, scurried up.

"Fran-sama! Y-yes, er, a working prototype of the boots _are_ done, b-but…"

Fran narrowed her eyes, knowing that nothing good ever came out of a sentence like that. Identifying the speaker as a captain's second-in-command, she drawled, "Don't stutter; it's unbecoming. And spit it out already. 'But' _what?_"

"E-eh, but they've already been marked as failures!" the White Spell member blurted out, intimidated by 'Fran-sama's' blankly unnerving stare.

Before she could do anything other than frown, another voice cut in, cool, calm, and collected. "Why don't you come into my office and I'll explain, Fran-san? Your upgraded bo staff is also ready for pick-up."

She turned her flat gaze on the green-eyed red-head, before relaxing her tensed muscles and shrugging.

"Whatever, Shoichi. Lead the way."

* * *

Once the door of Shoichi's office closed behind Fran, the glasses-wearing teen collapsed onto the ground, clutching his stomach.

"O-oh, th-that was sc-scary," he gasped with a wince.

Severely unimpressed, Fran raised an eyebrow at the figure on the floor, and then took a chair in front of his desk. "So, it seems that public speaking and acting confident still gives you cramps, huh, 'Sho-chan'? One would think _you_ were the girl here, what with your constant PMS-ing…"

He stopped spasming after a few seconds, and stood up with wobbly legs, taking the seat behind his desk so that they were facing each other. Chuckling nervously, he raised his shoulders and then dropped them.

"W-what can you do, right? And pl-please don't call me that, that's just what Byakuran-san insists on calling me. I'm not cut out for being a leader. Tea? I-I mean, you liked tea, didn't you? Or w-was it the coffee…"

She accepted a cup of green tea, and blew on it gingerly. "Why _does_ he call you that? And why does everyone _else_ in the Millefiore seem to use honorifics, too? I mean, seriously, last time I checked, we were two merged _Italian_ Famiglias. Tea's fine, though. Keep in mind I liked warm bubble tea the best. As long as it isn't cold, I suppose. But anyway, back to the subject. What happened to the boots?"

Shoichi seemed to straighten up, losing his timidity, as he often did when discussing science-y matters that Fran rarely othered with. He leaned forward slightly, his eyes intense and focused while his hands unconsciously gestured for emphasis as he explained. "Oh, the boots. See, we _did_ have the working prototypes ready. They were cleared when tested on the digital simulations, too. But when we called in some real-life volunteers to do a test-run before you got here, they all kept fainting after a few seconds of use; that's barely enough time to get maybe a yard off of the ground.

"I then called in some of your medic Suns from the Gray Spell, and had them examine the passed out volunteers to figure out what was wrong. Because, you see, we _did_ re-examine the boots, but the boots' design seemed to have no possible defect that could logically lead to people losing consciousness. They reported that the people had all fainted because of severe depletion of their Flames.

"We ran a few more tests with some of the volunteers who still had lots of Flames, and found that the drainage rate of the boots was far too high. It made the boots no longer a feasible option for transport or for use in battle, because at the rate it was draining Flames, even an A-rank would pass out after maybe three minutes. Though, the boots seem to stop draining Flames after the user loses consciousness, so they'll definitely fall, but they won't die from having their Flames completely drained, because it'll stop before it gets to that point.

"We'll be redesigning the boots, however, and I think we've got a solid idea of where to start, since the massive drainage is mostly wasted. The extra Flames are just expelled into the air around the boots, too uncondensed to power flight, but they're still _there_. If we could somehow limit the drain or at least contain and _reuse_ the Flames, then…"

He trailed off, eyes distant, and began muttering a bunch of numbers and calculations under his breath.

Fran mentally sighed. /Ugh, genii and their wanderings. And _who_ was the one who said that they 'weren't cut out to be leader'?/ she thought.

With the ease of practice that came from being Spanner's (a.k.a. another often distracted genius') former Boss, she reached out and snapped her fingers in front of Shoichi's glasses. "Hey, no going into La-La Land. I'm still here, you know. Okay, so the boots are useless right now. When's the earliest date you can get a better working prototype up for use?"

"In another month, Fran-san," he answered promptly.

"Then that's settled." She set down her empty cup of tea and leaned back slightly in her chair, her blanked look still in place. "Where's my new and improved bo staff, then? You mentioned it before."

Shoichi blinked and appeared to snap out of his 'lecture mode'. He hit his fist into his palm with an, 'oh, yeah!' expression. Then he ducked under his desk and started rifling through some boxes and files. A few minutes later, an unearthed box, longer than Fran was tall, was set onto the desk.

He flipped open the lid and started explaining. "I kept your original idea of disguising it as a scepter. Of course, you could just keep it like a scepter if you wanted; I remember Vongola Nono used a scepter in battle. Instead of your former removable Flame-conductible bronze sphere, the 'cap' is now a removable Flame-conductible titanium sphere, to make it harder when used as a blunt weapon for fighting.

"Two A-rank gems were also inserted into the sphere, like rabbit ears; one's a Mist, one's a Sky, and if you're in a tight spot, just pull out both gems at the same time and pull off the sphere before throwing it on the ground. That should be the same as pulling out the pin of a grenade, and upon impact the sphere will explode. It's just a hidden smoke bomb, so you should be able to make an uninjured getaway. be careful, though; that's a one-use kind of trump card.

"I switched out your bo staff for a titanium one, too. Well, actually, the top layer is titanium, and there's a second layer or reinforced steel underneath to make sure it's not too weak. Then it's hollow, to prevent it being too heavy. It's all treated to make it Flame-resistant and Flame-retardant, so melting it should take some effort, at least. I also took the liberty of making sure all the metal was Flame-conductive. Then there's a simple steel cap on the bottom, just so that the bottom doesn't look like someone chopped a piece off and you can see the insides."

Smiling anxiously, Shoichi glanced up at his tealette co-worker, waiting for approval. "D-do you like it?"

She bent down closer to examine her new weapon. Picking it up with one hand, Fran hefted it up in to the air, testing the weight. Giving a sharp nod and a rare quirk of the lips, she hummed. "It's good."

Getting up, Fran commented, "If that's all, then I'll be leaving now. it's nearly dinner, with just enough time for me to drop by the Gray Spell Division and have a surprise evaluation. You have paperwork to do, as well. Plus, Byakuran will be coming soon to check on his 'Sho-chan', and I prefer to avoid voluntarily spending too much time with him."

At the red-head's nod, she left.

"Whew, that was nerve-wracking," Shoichi muttered to himself, sagging into his chair. "Frances-san, I mean, Fran-san, always frightens me with that blank stare of hers. I wonder if Spanner would mind me visiting…? I need a break. Oh, wait, didn't she just say that Byakuran-san would be coming to check on me? Argh, and I forgot to mention to her about those Box Weapons I was supposed to let her try out and pick from..."

* * *

_**#**_

_**#**_

_**#**_

_**And now some everyday Millefiore interactions! Your daily dose of 'Sho-chan' has arrived, too. Basically, we learn about Fran's weapon from now on, and get a hint of what comes in the next chapter. Which Box Weapon/s shall our favorite blankly staring tealette choose? It's a Mist one. As in, **__**one**__** Box Weapon. But not quite. Eh, you'll see soon, but guesses are welcomed and amusing! **_

_**#**_

_**#**_

_**~Please Review~**_

_**~I love reviews more than Spanner loves lollipops~**_


	7. Mobilization

**Summary:**

_Fran's not dumb; she can tell she's only a replacement. She's Yuni's elder sister, but it was official that Yuni would be Boss after Aria died; it's clear everyone liked her kind, gracious and cheery attitude over Fran's indifferent, cold and cynical one. Yuni was the trusting, benevolent "Aria's daughter". Fran was the suspicious, bitter "spitting image of Aria's husband". She's even born with the "wrong" Flame; a strong primary Mist and a weak secondary Sky. But now that Yuni's vanished, Fran's the (grudging) Giglio Nero Boss, and will be the one meeting with Gesso. She's got a bad feeling about their Boss, though; Byakuran's intrigued by a Fran who differs from her parallel selves. Meanwhile, Yuni being gone has a greater significance than any of them realize. TYL!Fran, Fem!Fran, Very AU._

**Disclaimer:**

_KHR! rights go to Akira Amano._

_The cover picture is not mine. It belonged to an insanely talented deviantart artist who I have no way of contacting, so please don't sue me._

* * *

**Reviews:**

_Thank you, '__**BrokenAria**__', for your reviews. It was really inspiring to get 6 reviews at once, and the helpful feedback definitely made my … midnight? Not day, anyway, since it was __way__ too late for that. I'm really glad you liked the story, though; I just felt that the KHR! Fandom needed more Fem!Fran, and when I saw the cover picture when browsing on the internet, it just clicked, you know? _

_Thank you, '__**Leez**__', for your review. I don't think I really understood what you meant by your review, but nonetheless I appreciated that you left one! Hopefully you liked the story, anyway. :]_

* * *

**Quotes:**

"_You know, the whole 'pouting' thing doesn't really work for you. You've already got the 'whimsical madly giggling general insanity' down, so that kinda cancels the effect out. Plus, you're fifteen. And eating a marshmallow." - Fran_

"_There's always a reason with you, Byakuran. And they usually aren't good reasons." - Fran_

"_Technically, I already entrusted the Rings to you, though 'entrust' isn't very accurate, considering that it implies, well, trust." - Fran_

"_Bah, technicalities don't matter much. You know that as well as I do. Technically, seeing the future should be impossible. Technically, sprouting Flames out of your body should be impossible. Nothing's impossible; it's just a matter of when it becomes possible." - Byakuran_

"_Nice quote you have there; did you rip it off of some book?" - Fran_

"_From an inspirational speech, actually. But that's not an answer, Francy-chan." - Byakuran_

'_Where is your fire, Kikyo? Where is your resolve that makes you worthy of being my Cloud? Of being a Funeral Wreath and possessing a Mare Ring? Show me your resolve.' - Byakuran_

'_No matter; the ones in the front are always struck down first, aren't they?' - Fran_

"_Welcome to the dark side. We've run out of cookies, but rest assured, there's plenty of marshmallows to go around." - Fran_

* * *

"Boo."

"... Was there a meaning behind you suddenly popping up next to me, Byakuran?"

The aforementioned teen pouted. And ate a marshmallow. Before resuming his pouting.

Fran eyed him critically. "You know, the whole 'pouting' thing doesn't really work for you. You've already got the 'whimsical madly giggling general insanity' down, so that kinda cancels the effect out. Plus, you're fifteen. And eating a marshmallow."

She glanced down at the pen in her hand and clicked it twice. "Now is there a _reason_ you decided to interrupt my work and sneak into my private office, or can I just ignore you and get back to filling out the new medical supplies orders? There's still two more weeks until I'm supposed to give you the third Mare Ring."

Byakuran pouted harder. "Mou, do I always _need_ to have a reason to drop by? Can't a person just drop by innocently to visit another friend-slash-colleague, Francy-chan?"

Not fooled, the tealette leveled a steady look at him. "There's _always_ a reason with you, Byakuran. And they usually aren't _good_ reasons; at least, not for me they aren't."

He smoothly slipped out of his pout into a Cheshire grin. "Well, I won't refute that I have a reason this time, anyway. Seeing as I haven't gotten my Funeral Wreaths yet, I figured I may as well make good use of my free time and try to find them now. When things start picking up steam later on, I probably won't have enough time to go out in search of them. Besides, I've already got the Cloud and Storm Rings, so why not get my Cloud and Storm Funeral Wreaths?"

A doubtful eyebrow was arched in his direction. "And that concerns me _how?_"

A shrug was her answer. "I also figured that I'd come and ask if you wanted to tag along with me. Get to know them, bond a little. These are the people you'll be entrusting the Mare Rings to, the people that you'll be seeing a lot of and working with in the years to come."

"Technically, I already entrusted the Rings to _you_, though 'entrust' isn't very accurate, considering that it implies, well, _trust_."

"Bah, technicalities don't matter much. You know that as well as I do. _Technically_, seeing the future should be impossible. _Technically_, sprouting Flames out of your body should be impossible. Nothing's impossible; it's just a matter of _when_ it becomes possible."

"Nice quote you have there; did you rip it off of some book?"

"From an inspirational speech, actually. But that's not an answer, Francy-chan."

"I know it's not."

"So what _is?_"

"... Fine. But you totally owe me for this. Do you have any idea how much paperwork I could've finished today?"

"Eh, just delegate it."

"Wait, is _that _how you never seem to have any paperwork of your own? By pushing it onto your subordinates? That's an abuse of power, you know. ...Byakuran? Damnit, Byakuran, stop smirking and walking away and _give me a straight answer!_ ...Ugh, stupid marshmallow-obsessed teens who want to take over the world..."

* * *

"Right, so, first on the list to collect is Kikyo, my Cloud Funeral Wreath."

"The pretty-boy with the green girly hairstyle?"

"Yes, but please don't call him that. He probably won't like it."

"Do you really think that that'll stop me? Pity, I thought you knew me better by now."

"I should, shouldn't I? Oh, wait, we're here. Stop the cab, please."

Byakuran smiled and thanked the taxi driver, before paying the bill and stepping out of the car. Fran had already gotten out, and was standing on the sidewalk, facing their destination with a particularly bland and unimpressed look.

"So this is it? An office building? That's seriously where your future Cloud Funeral Wreath is? Funny, I never counted him as the type for… paper-pushing and counseling," she commented off-handedly, arms crossed.

"Ah, stop it, Francy-chan. You're just sulking because you couldn't bring your scepter and usual uniform," he dismissed with a mocking jab, brushing past her to stride confidently into the lobby.

Fran creased her brow in irritation, and then followed him in. It was true that they had needed to blend in in the metropolis, so her hat, cloak, scepter, and Gray Spell uniform had been left behind. Byakuran had changed out of his White Spell uniform, too.

Still, she'd been annoyed when she'd asked, 'why can't I just use my illusions?' and he'd answered with that insufferable smile of his, 'now what's the fun in that?'.

And somehow he'd managed to persuade her in the end, even insisting on dressing "business", not "casual".

Thus, what the secretary on the lobby floor of the skyscraper saw coming in were a smiling white-haired teen in nicely pressed white suit, accompanying a blank-faced tealette teen in a gray-striped blouse and an ash-gray knee-length skirt.

* * *

"Excuse me, miss, but may we see a man named Kikyo? It's urgent business, to be sure," the lavender-eyed boy asked with a charming grin.

/Oh, my, how polite! Now if only more children were as well-mannered these days.../ The secretary thought, before turning her attention onto the two visitors. "I'm sorry," she apologized after scrolling down her computer screen, "but have you made an appointment? Otherwise, I'm afraid you'll have to wait at least a day to see Mr. xxxx."

His grin never wavered, and he discreetly gestured towards the teal-eyed girl on his right. "Yes, I'm sure we had an appointment. VIP and all. Don't be surprised if we take all day."

The secretary frowned, not noticing the slight tinge of purple that briefly settled over her sight.

Glancing back the the screen, she was about to deny that claim, when she suddenly blinked and then the appointment was there. /I could've sworn it wasn't before… oh, well, the customer's always right. And they seem rich, too./ "Oh, I see it now. My apologies for earlier, Mr. Mille and Ms. Fiore. Please, head on right up. He should be on the third floor, Room 312. Have a nice session, and please come again."

The pair exchanged amused glances.

"Oh, I don't believe that we will," the girl murmured. She waved her hand again, in a careless twirl, with indigo sparks dancing merrily on the tips, and they entered the elevator.

Back in the lobby, the secretary suddenly blinked again, and looked around. "Did someone just come in…?" she muttered, tossing a confused gaze onto her computer screen.

[!No Appointments for Today!] it blinked innocently. She frowned. "Huh."

* * *

In the elevator, Byakuran was cheerfully humming along to the jazzy music playing from the speakers.

"... what does Kikyo _do_, anyway?" Usually Fran wouldn't be the first one to prompt a conversation, especially with _Byakuran_ of all people, but she grudgingly admitted that her curiosity was enough to overrule it this time.

He seemed pleased by her willingly speaking first. "Ah, I believe he's a counselor of some sort." Then his eyes darkened and he clasped his hands behind his back. "He's also being abused by his employer."

Well, that was surprising. Her 'Clairvoyance' had never offered that vision, but she supposed that she'd never really asked.

"Ah," Fran voiced quietly, reaching up to fiddle with her hat out of habit, and grasping nothing but air. "... How bad is it?"

"Pretty bad," Byakuran replied, his tone light but the meaning much the opposite. The doors of the elevator slid open. He exited gracefully, his shoulders set with purpose. "But I'll just have to fix that, won't I? After all, my Funeral Wreaths are _mine_."

/And damned if you aren't a possessively clingy bastard,/ Fran thought with a sort of resigned amusement. Then annoyance set in, as she had to practically _scamper_ to keep up with his fast pace. /Argh, shitty smiley-sadists with their stupidly long legs and effortlessly smooth walks…/

* * *

She eventually caught up to him in a few minutes, and they were now walking down the Infinitely Long Hallway Of Doom, Despair, and Fluorescent Lights.

"Room 322, Room 321, Room 320, Room 319, Room 318…" Byakuran counted down under his breath, his still-darkened _violet_ eyes (not lavender anymore, no) methodically scanning the labeled doors that they passed.

To his left, his adorably scowling and fun-to-tease co-Boss was cursing softly in a mix of French and Italian and some very interesting Latin thrown together.

The root of her out-of-character (or at least out-of-character to be spoken _aloud_) curses?

Her shoewear coupled together with the rather speedy rate at which he was striding. She was apparently unused to wearing the high heels that had gone along with her new 'disguise', and thus ended up tripping or stumbling slightly every few steps.

(And _why _he make her wear actual 'business' clothes and not slow down? Because it was amusing to see her usually unruffled self get flustered, of course. Why else?)

They turned a corner and abruptly stopped. His eyes narrowed with anger_rage__**fury**_ at the sight they stumbled upon, and Fran had to restrain him with an impromptu illusion to stop him from immediately rushing in.

'Watch it play out first, then decide a fitting punishment,' she spelled out with another illusion, one that caused blocky teal letters to float in front of his eyes, only visible to him. He clenched his teeth and smiled fiercely, tightly, but obeyed.

Kikyo, his dear, loyal future Cloud, had just been roughly pushed out of a doorway. The green-haired man, clutching papers in one hand, simply sat there and bore his employer's yells and kicks with the grim stoicness of one who was long used to such treatment.

"-you worthless piece of trash! I tell you to have the reports ready by this afternoon, and what happens!? You have the wrong papers and embarrass me in front of all the other directors by making me late for the meeting! Do you really want another paycheck to go _mysteriously_ missing!? Why I oughta-"

For a second, Byakuran stilled and narrowed his eyes further. /Where is your _fire_, Kikyo? Where is your _resolve_ that makes you worthy of being my Cloud? Of being a Funeral Wreath and possessing a Mare Ring? _Show me your resolve._/

Then the pony-tailed man looked up at the man beating on him, and Byakuran could _see_ the effort it took the Cloud to continue his silence and not leap up and _smash his head in right there and then_. His Cloud Flames flared and swirled, agitated and on the verge of explosion.

The white-haired teen smiled wider, his eyes lightening back to normal. /Good. I can work with that./

* * *

Fran saw his expression, and whatever she saw convinced her to dispel her illusionary restraints.

She followed him again, as he glided forward to confront the shouting man.

/Heh, at this rate I'm practically his shadow, with the way he always seems to lead. No matter; the ones in the front are always struck down first, aren't they? And support's not glamorous, but it's definitely satisfying,/ she mused, freezing the loud man (employer, she noted) in his tracks with nary a blink. Hanging back, Fran observed the Sky and Cloud's interactions with curious, distant eyes.

"Wh-who are you…? How did you just…" Kikyo trailed off uncertainly, his eyes sliding over to the frozen figure of his employer with a mixture of fascination and envy.

Fran mentally sighed. /Tch. Too easy to read. Eh, well, he supposedly gets a _lot_ better later, so I can't really begrudge him this much./

Byakuran smiled, but kept his eyes sharp and focused. He crouched down and offered the Cloud a hand.

"We're a possible future for you. A future that's much, much better than this one. A future that's just within your grasp. The question is, will you take it? Will you take the opportunity? You could learn how to do something like that, y'know. We could teach you. We could teach you how to be strong, how to defend yourself, how to defend others. How to never end up like _this_ again. Never looked down upon, never disgraced, never beaten and helpless to prevent it. You need a job? Need money? We've got everything you'll ever need, Kikyo. Everything you'll ever desire. Will you take our hand?"

/Well, you have to give him some credit for his recruitment speeches,/ Fran admitted, still observing with a detached gaze. /That girly-haired guy is close to accepting. Really close. Just another little push.../

* * *

Kikyo's eyes flickered from the hand, to Byakuran's face, to the bored-looking girl lurking nonchalantly behind him. /Who… who _are_ these people? I… they… what should I.../

Against his better senses, he blurted out, "B-but I still have no clue who you guys are and what you guys want! How do you know my name? Wh-what do you want with me? A-and why _me?_"

The white-haired boy with the purple spiky-tattoo on his cheekbone merely smiled with warm, warm lavender eyes. Then he turned halfway to gesture towards the frozen man (and hah!, looks like that damned cheapskate bastard finally got something of what was due to him after all that that he had suffered under him), and his eyes turned cold, cold violet (and inside of him, Kikyo desperately wanted to make him go back to that warm lavender, because that cold violet was something that he never wanted to experience himself).

"Ah, Kikyo. Kikyo, Kikyo, Kikyo. Like I said, we offer a new future. A better future. Call us… the leaders of a secret organization, I suppose. We want _you_, Kikyo, to join us. Join _me_. Join the quest for a perfect world. _I _know your name, because of certain… special abilities we possess. Special abilities that allowed my counterpart to freeze that… _man_ over there." His lip curled in definite, clear contempt when he said 'man' to reference his employer.

(Privately, Kikyo agreed. That _thing_ was barely a _person_, and he _refused_ to acknowledge _it_ as anything else.)

"So yes, we want you to join. Why you, you say? Because you have the _potential_ inside of you. The potential to unlock those 'special abilities'. Very strong 'abilities', too. Well? We could make you vanish entirely, if that's what you want. We could erase your _employer's_ memories of you. We could aid you in seeking wealth, revenge, family, comradeship… _anything_. We could _save_ you, Kikyo, _save you from your personal Hell right now_. Isn't that what you'd like? You _need?_"

Kikyo eyed the hand warily. He gulped back his apprehension. "A-and the _downsides?_"

The white-haired boy smiled reassuringly. "Very few and far between. I doubt they'll even affect you at all. Your decision?"

Even the tealette glanced over briefly, pausing in her examination of her cuticles, to cock her head with interest and listen for his answer.

Swallowing any doubts, Kikyo made his choice, and felt something _burn_ inside of him. His hand gripped the outstretched offer, and he stood up. "Yes. Yes, I'll join. Yes, I'll aid you in building your better future."

The boy's smile turned to satisfaction, and the girl snickered. "Call me Byakuran," he invited. "And her name… well, she'll probably just want you to call her Fran."

He paused, and poked Kikyo's forehead with his Sky Flames, inserting a few memories of what Flames were and how to use them. Byakuran's lavender irises glinted. "There's just one initiation test, Kikyo: _Show me your resolve_."

Kikyo reflexively caught the object tossed his way, and discovered to be a small silver winged ring. /Cloud Mare Ring,/ his new memories provided helpfully. He slipped it on and flexed his hands. "Alright. I can do that."

* * *

An hour later, a filled-in Kikyo, Byakuran, and Fran were in another taxi, headed to the Millefiore Italy Base.

The charred and viciously decimated remains of the skyscraper were far behind them.

Fran glanced at Kikyo and smirked. She spoke the first words she'd ever said to him.

"Welcome to the dark side. We've run out of cookies, but rest assured, there's plenty of marshmallows to go around."

The Cloud didn't quite know what to react to that. So, he settled for blinking dazedly at her. "I'm sorry, what?"

She sighed and clucked her tongue, before throwing a black bundle at him. "Ah, whatever. Nevermind. Here's your Funeral Wreath uniform, by the way, and Byakuran will probably explain where you'll be staying later. Try to avoid being seen by anyone except him and me, okay? It'll most likely end in Byakuran throwing a sulky hissy fit again, with his secrecy plans ruined."

Kikyo blinked again, and caught the bundle. "Er, I understand, Fran-sama? It will make Lord Byakuran upset?"

Sighing again and shaking her head, Fran closed her eyes and sank into the seat. /I won't even _bother_ trying to correct the whole -sama and 'Lord' thing; my 'Clairvoyance' _did_ tell me that he had a huge respect for his 'savior' in the future, so I suppose me being a 'savior', too, automatically extends that respect./

It was shaping up to be a long, long ride.

* * *

"So," Fran said, in a very, very dry tone of voice. She surveyed the row of little boxes, all lined up neatly and labeled, sitting on the lab table.

"So, you're telling me that the reason you called me down to your private lab was to show me my choices of Box Weapons/Animals, and that these are the only ones I can choose from. Oh, and that I can only choose one, because apparently these are all the best, most highly-ranked and useful Boxes?"

The blank glare she gave Shoichi told him in quite precise terms exactly what she thought of _that_ idea.

Shoichi chuckled nervously and held up his hands in surrender. "Er, sorry? I-it was Byakuran-san's orders, too, and _kami-I'm-sorry-please-forgive-me-and-don't-hurt-me!_"

He squeaked out the words at the end, more of a babble, really, and then toppled over into an unceremonious collapse on the floor. His arms encircled his thin torso and he curled up into a defensive ball, shivering.

Fran raised an eyebrow. Was her glare really that frightening? Huh, she should make that something to work on, then. It was no use having tactical genii if they keeled over in your displeased presence.

Making a mental note of that, she stepped over the trembling red-head on the ground, and stooped down slightly to peer closer at the Boxes. Immediately disregarding the Sky Boxes (because again, her secondary Flame was too weak and too draining for her to use effectively in combat), Fran moved onto the Mist Boxes. /I already have my bo staff, so if I can only have one Box, I'd better choose an Animal one./

"Now let's see… the available animals are…"

* * *

_**#**_

_**#**_

_**#**_

_**Sorry about the lack of the promised Box Weapon/Animal reveal. The whole 'Funeral Wreath recruitment' scene occurred to me as a vital part that should be written in pretty early, since I want Fran to get to know the Wreaths. Why? Well, that's a plot twist, actually, that'll come a few chapter later on.**_

_**#**_

_**#**_

_**~Please Review~**_

_**~I need reviews like Reborn needs his espresso and fedora and Leon~**_


	8. Evaluation

**Summary:**

_Fran's not dumb; she can tell she's only a replacement. She's Yuni's elder sister, but it was official that Yuni would be Boss after Aria died; it's clear everyone liked her kind, gracious and cheery attitude over Fran's indifferent, cold and cynical one. Yuni was the trusting, benevolent "Aria's daughter". Fran was the suspicious, bitter "spitting image of Aria's husband". She's even born with the "wrong" Flame; a strong primary Mist and a weak secondary Sky. But now that Yuni's vanished, Fran's the (grudging) Giglio Nero Boss, and will be the one meeting with Gesso. She's got a bad feeling about their Boss, though; Byakuran's intrigued by a Fran who differs from her parallel selves. Meanwhile, Yuni being gone has a greater significance than any of them realize. TYL!Fran, Fem!Fran, Very AU._

**Disclaimer:**

_KHR! rights go to Akira Amano._

_The cover picture is not mine. It belonged to an insanely talented deviantart artist who I have no way of contacting, so please don't sue me._

* * *

**Reviews:**

_Thank you, '__**ADDBaby**__', for your review. Sorry, not a ferret, but that would've gone along wonderful with Bel's mink, don't you think? I did include it as one of the options, though, so thanks for your suggestion; I needed a third option, and your review inspired that third Box Animal. :]_

* * *

**Quotes:**

"_Relax a little, Shoichi; this is how you get stress problems, you know." - Fran_

"_So I could barge in and rifle through your memories and listen in on your everyday musings… but I won't. First off, it's boring after a while. I do not need to know 101 reasons why you dislike coffee beans but absolutely worship pomegranate lotion." - 'Vi'_

"_Also, you may want to note that that last line would constitute as 'sharing too much private information', and usually makes humans rather uncomfortable." - Fran _

"_Au revoir, and don't be late for dinner, or else Byakuran will be whiny all night long about his 'Sho-chan' leaving him." - Fran_

'_Ah, the joys of being a misleading and petty, petty person.' - Fran_

* * *

"Three Mist Box Animals, so three choices for me," Fran murmured under her breath, sweeping her eyes carefully over the innocently sitting violet cubes. She dispelled the illusion that'd been hiding the Mist Mare Ring on her right index finger, and hefted up the cube on her left.

"I'll go through these in order," she decided. After a glance at the label marking it's former position on the table, she fed a trickle of her Flames through the Ring, and inserted the steady flare into the "key-hole" on the side.

A clicking sound occurred, before the Box's lids flipped open. A blast of Mist Flames swirled out, nearly scorching her.

When the Flames died away, a large hummingbird, about the size of her fist, was left hovering a few inches away from Fran's nose. With shimmering iridescent feathers that shined like rippling scales, and Mist Flames that flickered brightly around the edges were shaped into it's wings, it was certainly eye-catchingly exotic.

Landing on the illusionary perch that formed underneath it's delicately clawed toes, it cocked it's head and preened some of it's fiery plumage with a short, sharply curved yellow beak.

Wide, almond-shaped eyes glinted darkly at her, assessing and observing and judging.

Fran blinked blankly at it. "So what can you do?" she drawled, unimpressed.

If a hummingbird could possibly sniff with disdain, than this one definitely did.

Glaring fiercely at her, the crest on it's head fanned up. A low buzzing noise built up in intensity, and came from the bird's white-speckled chest, which also started to glow erratically. A few seconds later, it's jaw dropped open, unhinging until it rather resembled a snake's unhinged jaws, and fired out a highly condensed stream of Mist Flames.

The Mist Flames split apart rapidly, until hundreds of thin strands were branching off. Then each strand turned to something different: acid, ice, poison, fire, knives, needles, water, etc.

For a split second, everything stood still; and then each strand _exploded_, and Fran mentally patted herself on the back for having ducked under the table and constructed a Mist shield earlier.

Shoichi gasped and shot to his feet, swiveling around to examine his precious lab. "W-what did you _do!?_" he wailed, viewing the ash marks and half-melted instruments with a despairing sort of horror.

Fran crept back up, too, and calmly brushed herself off. "Relax a little, Shoichi; this is how you get stress problems, you know," she advised. Then she smiled; it was an eerie smile that promised something very unpleasant in the near future, just like all of her other smiles. "Just… _relax_."

The moment she uttered 'relax', the illusionist swiftly froze him with subtle Mist Flames. He still had a look of nervousness on his face, even as he toppled back onto the ground, unconscious.

Sparing him an unsympathetic glance, ( /because honestly, this is for the best; he'd probably freak out even more if he stayed awake for my 'testing' of the other Boxes. This way, I'll just repair everything at the end with some Real Illusions, leave him a note explaining which one I took, and then wake him up remotely/ ) Fran turned back to the table.

Darting another nasty glare at her, the hummingbird blew a wet raspberry at her (and also aiming a strand of sticky cobwebs onto her hat) and then swooped back into it's Box.

Throwing up an illusionary shield to catch the cobwebs, she then dispelled the shield and frowned at the closed 1st Box. /Right, definitely not _that_ one. I don't want a sparkly little princess Box Animal with an ego problem, no matter _how_ useful it's ability could be. I'm not much of a direct combat person, anyway, though I suppose the "strands" could've worked for ambushes; depends on it's reach, in the end./

* * *

Picking up the second Box, and glancing down at the label again, Fran closed her eyes for a second and hoped that this would end up better than the snooty hummingbird. She lit up the Mare Ring with the ease of long-use, and fitted it in. The customary click!, flip!, and whoosh! of Flames came.

This time, when the Flames cleared, she was greeted to the sight of six curious, beady eyes staring at her. Stumbling slightly, Fran shooed them off.

Accordingly, three intertwined ferrets rolled off of her head and onto the table, quickly separating into three tawny streaks that flashed and encircled and slipped between each other effortlessly. Their speed could put cheetahs to shame, Fran noted.

"Stop, pause, freeze, whatever. Let me have a look at you," she ordered.

They stopped, paused, and froze obediently, looking up at her with those same curious eyes, twitching their noses playfully.

As far as she could tell, they seemed identical. "So, you're, what? Triplets? Illusions of a single one?" she hazarded a guess.

Breaking formation, the three ferrets turned to each other and snickered, one of them collapsing onto the table and rolling around in it's wild glee. The remaining two just shook their heads at her and shrugged.

Fran arched an eyebrow. /Can't say much for their intelligence.../ "Triplets, then. Okay, what can you do?"

All three pairs of eyes lightened with excitement, and they immediately turned to each other and chattered away delight. In unison, their furry little paws, with their spindly little claws, clapped together.

Each time they clapped, one of them sent out illusions (poisonous flowers, carnivorous plants, choking vines, tree roots that stabbed viciously and captured, etc.), another one of them easily dispelled the illusions, and the third seem to boost the power of the illusions (the colors brightened, the details sharpened, the scents became more realistic, etc.).

After about a minute of this, they stopped and turned to look up eagerly at her, evidently waiting for feedback.

Fran shrugged. "Eh, I'll keep you in mind. Thanks for the show, though."

Their ears drooped pitifully and they filed sadly back into their Boxes.

It almost made her want to call them back.

Almost.

/That's still more of a wide-range attack ability, and I can't tell if they'll only be able to work together. If so, then definitely not, because their cheery-energetic attitudes annoy me,/ she freely admitted to herself.

* * *

Selecting the third and last Box, Fran had already decided that if worst came to worst, she'd just choose a Weapon, instead, or request a personally designed Box Animal. /That was what Byakuran is doing, right? (Him and his dragon fetish…)/

Click.

Flip.

But instead of the whoosh! of Flames that she'd expected, only a thin, dewy mist (as in, fog-mist, not Flames-mist) came oozing out.

A light, barely-there presence graced the top of her right hand, and in that instance, Fran could feel roughly half of maximum capacity Flames drain away in a flash, just like a sudden boulder had dropped in her stomach.

Staggering onto one knee, she shakily got back onto two feet, supporting herself with the cold edge of the table. /What the fuck was _that?_/ Fran wondered. With already a ⅛ of her Flames drained from just opening the first two Boxes, the massive ½ drain of her Flames for the third Box left her running on just ⅜ of her maximum capacity.

Considering that Dying Will Flames were called 'Dying Will' for a reason, it was never a good idea to use too much without waiting to replenish it.

Oh, sure, some could get by by exerting tremendously fine Flame control, thus being able to use only the minimum amount needed for techniques, but replenishing Flames always took time.

It would take longer if she fainted from the lack of Flames; from prior testing, Fran estimated that she had maybe an hour's worth of using Flames for illusions left before she hit the 2/8 or ¼ mark and had to stop.

/Strange, though… after that massive drain, the Box isn't draining any more Flames to sustain it's opening. Is the Animal independently running on the Flames it took?/ Remembering the presence that had settled on her hand before the drain, Fran looked sharply down at it.

Erect butterfly wings formed out of Mist Flames (the cores of which were Hard Mist Flames and provided the 'fuel', while the rest of the wings were Soft Mist Flames that provided the 'fire') were held alert, steadily burning, burning, burning. The wings were big; if spread fully out, Fran had no doubt that each wing be enough to entirely overlap her palm.

Two rounded, large eyes, maybe each the size of her pinky-nail, stared solemnly up at her, eerily reminiscent of her own blanked face.

It's antennae were curled back, arching gracefully, barely touching the edges of it's Flame-wings, and a long, long tongue curled back to it's throat. The body was thin, but stretched in a vaguely draconic way, the 'tail' laid flat to easily view the six spines/needles growing along it's edge. All of it, even it's slender legs, were covered in a downy layer of sleek gray fur, some areas striped or dappled darker than others.

The tiny pincer-claws on each leg gripped the skin of her hand loosely; not enough to hurt, but more than enough to stay on securely, especially with the way that the claws slid partly _under_ the skin.

As if asking permission for something, the butterfly fluttered it's Flame-wings once, twice.

Fran nodded unsurely.

Upon receiving the nod, the butterfly immediately flicked out it's tongue and _licked_ the back of her hand, applying a shallow dab of a softly glowing substance that soon sank in, rather like a healing salve in touch (coolly refreshing). It's two antennae both lit up, the more rounded ends gaining a gray-ish inner light that shone through slightly.

-Ah, perfect, connection established.-

Fran startled at hearing a sudden voice in her head. She glanced suspiciously at the Box Animal, whose dark brown eyes had dulled into a placid blandness.

/Testing, testing, 1, 2, 3… I assume it's _you_ who entered my mindscape?/

-Yes. My, my, my, how accusatory you sound, Illusionist.-

The butterfly had an odd voice, Fran decided. Lilting and… delicate, for lack of a better word. Muted. _Metallic_.

/All the better to suspect you with,/ she snarked back. /And I'll make another assumption; you can't hear me unless I specifically direct a thought to you, right?/

-True, but only of my own choice. You technically gave me permission, already, with that nod of yours. So I _could_ barge in and rifle through your memories and listen in on your everyday musings… but I won't. First off, it's boring after a while. I do _not_ need to know 101 reasons why you dislike coffee beans but absolutely worship pomegranate lotion.-

/Hold on a second, then… I'll try to link to my mindscape so I can see your mental form./

Closing her eyes, Fran exhaled slowly and concentrated on sinking into semi-sleep/deep meditation, a common skill of illusionists. Soon, she could hear the clinking noises that usually announced her entrance into her mindscape.

'Opening' her eyes again, Fran found herself where she often was upon entry; seated on a stool and looking out of a window of an open-air Italian cafe in the French countryside. This time, another person was seated opposite of her, and looked highly amused while sampling a tiramisu.

"Is that your mental form?" she asked off-handedly, waving over a faceless waitress to order a bubble tea and a chocolate pie. Fran snapped her menu shut and observed the Box Animal.

A pretty young woman smiled pleasantly back at her. Smooth, mostly straight purple hair (darker at the roots, lighter progressively towards the tips) curved just enough at the shoulders to create a neat bob. A dark gray headband held back any bangs, and the overall haircut made the woman look rather young and childish, giving the impression of a very mature child of 9 or 10.

Her short, thin frame only accentuated the look, as did her large dark brown eyes (no whites, just the iris and pupil) and gray sundress and sandals. Two wing-shaped hairclips were attached to the headband, and the tiny Mist Flames sparking off of the clips cemented her theory that this was the Box Animal.

"_Mm-hmm,"_ the butterfly confirmed with another pleasant smile that showed no teeth, still speaking with that tone that just sounded… _off_. Distant and _off_. It's slender fingers (along with the sharp fingernails that were very likely to be the pincer-claws) traced a pattern onto the tabletop. _"I'm the Farfalla di Nebbia; the Mist Butterfly. Feel free to name me if you wish to keep me as a Box Animal." _There was a pause, and it's unhumanly large and tranquil eyes focused intensely on her. _"__Are__ you going to keep me as a Box Animal?"_

Fran didn't even need to think about it; she _couldn't_ think about it, or else the butterfly would evidently lose what little respect automatically came with her. "Yes, of course… Vibrazione. 'Vibration' in Italian. So I'll nickname you 'Vi'. Do you have a gender?"

The butterfly seemed satisfied with it's name, and the intensity of it's pressing gaze lowered into something less frigid. _" 'Vi' shall suffice. And no, I do not have a particular gender, as I was manufactured as a Box Animal before being given a set of general personality traits and imbued with the ability of self-adaptation and free will. However, I chose this female appearance as my mental form because you were the first to open my Box, and I thought that you would appreciate conversing with someone of your gender more. In reality, I suppose I am androgynous and asexual, as again, I am merely a Box Animal."_

Fran summed it up. "So no, you don't have a gender. Also, you may want to note that that last line would constitute as 'sharing too much private information', and usually makes humans rather uncomfortable. Okay, so then keep your current form. It suits you, and it'd be too much trouble to track you down in my mindscape if you keep switching appearances and genders."

Vi nodded seriously, seemingly taking the advice to heart. _"Is there anything else you would like to know, Summoner?"_

She thought it over, and wondered what time it was; if it was too late, then it would be better to leave off the information dump until tomorrow. Complying to her wants in the mindscape, a digital clock appeared on the wall behind Vi. '6:11 P.M.' it blinked. /Hmm, that gives me maybe five minutes before I should fix up the lab, wake up Shoichi, and then go down to dinner; I promised that I'd be in the Dining Hall today, didn't I?/ "Can you explain the massive Flame drain first?"

"_Oh, that's simple. I'm rather unique for a Box Animal, because opening my Box requires a lot of Mist Flames. About half of your current maximum limit, I'd say. That's because I then gain all those Flames and become self-sufficient in a way; those Flames are essentially mine now, meaning only I can use them. _

"_However, it also means that I'll require no constant drain of Flames to sustain me outside of my Box. I'll only go back into my Box if ordered, or if the 'chunk' of Flames I got in the beginning runs out. You can tell when I start to run out because my wings will start to dim and die down. When only embers are left, I'm out of Flames. _

"_I can't suck out the Flames of anyone without their consent, but anyone can 'donate' Mist Flames to keep me going, including you. Don't worry, though; my control is excellent, so I should be able to last a while on the initial 'chunk'. _

"_Unfortunately, the initial 'chunk', as stated earlier, is quite large, so not many people have enough Mist Flames in reserve to open my Box, and out of those that do, I still require a certain purity of Mist Flames to be unlocked. That's partly why you're the first one to unlock me; the other part is because I'm a relatively new Box, and an oft-times overlooked one, too, since no one seems to think that a petty butterfly could ever aid them in combat." _

All of this was stated it that same, never-changing tone, with that same, never-changing unflappable stare, as if she were merely reciting it from an instruction manual.

/And maybe she is,/ Fran thought dryly. /I now also know exactly how unnerving it is to be directed with my blanked face and monotone voice. And I now also have a newfound appreciation for that skill of mine./ She nodded in acknowledgement of the data, and then stood up, before leaving her mindscape through one of the doors in the cafe that was labeled 'EXIT MIND, ENJOY YOUR VISIT'.

Back in the physical world, Fran blinked and her teal eyes cleared. The butterfly on her hand lost the glow from it's antennae. "Vi, you're dismissed," she told the butterfly, who flapped it's wings once in notice and then dived back into it's Box.

Collecting the Mist Box and stashing it in her hat for safe-keeping (because you seriously thought that Fran would just walk around with a giant hat on all day for no reason?), the illusionist repaired the damage to the lab with some very cleverly hidden Real Illusions. Laying another concealment illusion on her Mist Mare Ring, Fran then lifted the illusion on Shoichi, who sleepily woke up.

"A-ah!? Wh-what just happened? Didn't you destroy the lab?" he asked, utterly mystified while looking around at the clearly undamaged, pristine surroundings.

The tealette shrugged innocently. "You must've had one weird dream when you fainted from your stomachache," she replied blandly. "Anyway, I'm taking the Mist Butterfly. Au revoir, and don't be late for dinner, or else Byakuran will be whiny all night long about his 'Sho-chan' leaving him." With a casual wave good-bye, Fran left the White Spell research facilities and headed to the Dining Hall, leaving behind a certain red-head convinced that he was having a nervous breakdown.

/Ah, the joys of being a misleading and petty, petty person./

* * *

_**#**_

_**#**_

_**#**_

_**Sorry, no Byakuran in this chapter except for a brief mention near the end. And a severe lack of your daily Sho-chan, too. Eh, but the Box Weapon will be important, and basically 'Replacement'-canon, so I needed to dedicate at **__**least**__** a chapter to introduce it. I swear it won't be all Mary-Sue or super-powerup or anything like that. Hopefully. See, I'm trying to put some restrictions and limiters on it, but I'm not sure if it's enough. Maybe? **_

_**I mean, because I definitely can't use the canon Fran's Weapon, since would Fem!Fran from the Giglio Nero who's now allied with Byakuran really use a completely unrelated Box like the Fake Bel Box (or whatever it's name was)? Yeah, no. I mean, she'll definitely meet Rasiel later, since he's the Fake Storm Wreath, and she'll definitely meet the Varia later, since they'll be planning raids and staging warfare against the Millefiore and all.**_

_**#**_

_**#**_

_**~Please Review~**_

_**~I adore reviews as much as Hana hates kids~**_


	9. Notification

**Summary:**

_Fran's not dumb; she can tell she's only a replacement. She's Yuni's elder sister, but it was official that Yuni would be Boss after Aria died; it's clear everyone liked her kind, gracious and cheery attitude over Fran's indifferent, cold and cynical one. Yuni was the trusting, benevolent "Aria's daughter". Fran was the suspicious, bitter "spitting image of Aria's husband". She's even born with the "wrong" Flame; a strong primary Mist and a weak secondary Sky. But now that Yuni's vanished, Fran's the (grudging) Giglio Nero Boss, and will be the one meeting with Gesso. She's got a bad feeling about their Boss, though; Byakuran's intrigued by a Fran who differs from her parallel selves. Meanwhile, Yuni being gone has a greater significance than any of them realize. TYL!Fran, Fem!Fran, Very AU._

**Disclaimer:**

_KHR! rights go to Akira Amano._

_The cover picture is not mine. It belonged to an insanely talented deviantart artist who I have no way of contacting, so please don't sue me._

* * *

**Reviews:**

_Thank you, '__**ADDBaby**__', for your review. Hopefully it's tears of joy, then, though I do seem to have an inclination towards angst… eh, glad you liked it, anyways! I hereby dedicate the ferrets officially in your name: one of them is named 'Ad', one of them is named 'D.B.', and one of them is 'Aby'. The hummingbird refused to come out of it's Box again, however, since it's still stewing in a righteous anger over having it's amazingness questioned. ;]_

_Thank you, __**Skylarks and Skulls**__ ', for your review. Actually, I just rush home after school and madly type out a chapter each day to upload; it drives my parents crazy (and I totally freaked out when they hid my laptop [don't worry, I found it again!]), but I find that if I just type it all up beforehand, the demand and pressure to deliver isn't there, so I lose inspiration quickly. It's better if I just plan out that day's chapter when doodling and daydreaming in school, and then fit it into words later on before the spark is gone. Still, I __am__ very proud of my update rate, so thank you for that compliment. Reviews are the majority of the fuel behind my drive to deliver, after all; no one likes to disappoint their readers. This was actually kinda inspired by 'Truth of the Sky', too, and 'Kyoko' is definitely on my Favorites list. It's definitely a huge ego boost to be compared to them. :] Although, spoiler: Yuni's not really gone; she's going to make a reappearance later in the plot._

* * *

**Quotes:**

"_I __**said, don't poke my hat**__!" - Fran_

"_Technically, what you said before was, 'don't touch the hat', not 'don't poke my hat'." - Byakuran_

'_What's going through that head of Byakuran's? On second thought, I really don't want to know.' - Fran_

"_I'm just running low on Flames right now. Feels like I tried pulling an all-nighter without my precious tea and guava candies. Or like a mild hangover. I don't know. I've never drank before." - Fran_

"_Storms can enjoy their lava a little later on. Rain doesn't last forever, you know; better snatch them up quick in that little snippet of opportunity." -Byakuran_

* * *

Noisy chatter erupted out of the well-lit room as soon as Fran opened the sound-proofing door.

Wincing slightly at the abusement of her eardrums, she covered it up admirably and nonchalantly strode into the Dining Hall.

A noticeable dip in the noise levels occurred when the uniformed people inside noticed her arrival, but gradually returned to normal after all she did was wave her hand dismissively in a 'carry on with what you were doing' gesture.

* * *

The Millefiore Italy Base's Dining Hall was simply named for a simple room.

High-ceilinged and doubling as a ballroom for the occasional parties (held to impress and woo the favor of other Famiglias), large windows on one side looked out into the courtyards and training grounds. (Bulletproof glass and reinforced steel, naturally; they _were_ Mafia, after all.)

Swinging silver double-doors led into and out of the massive kitchens. The kitchen staff were mostly retired Mafioso who'd proved themselves to be both trustworthy and a deft hand at the culinary arts. For everyday breakfast, lunch, and dinner, there was a constantly restocked buffet-style spread, in a self-serve manner. Specialized requests could be made of the chefs, but they were too busy to accept any but the higher-ranks' orders.

Dozens of sturdy square tables and chairs were stationed around the room, as spotless and white as the floors, walls, and ceiling. Baykuran had a thing for the color white and for cleanliness, and therefore had passed a mandate declaring the Dinnig Hall as a neutral zone (meaning no food fights, fistfights, weapon-fights, or, well, fighting of any kind; that includes throwing the utensils at each other). Subordinates being punished for minor offenses were usually assigned cleaning duty as their penalty.

* * *

The occupants of the tables remained mostly segregated by choice.

Just with a casual glance, Fran could tell that everyone seemed to instinctively drift and clump together into groups from their own 'Spell'; the left side was a mass of 'White Spell', the right side was a sea of 'Black Spell', and the long-suffering peacekeeping 'Gray Spell' were either in the lanes down the middle, or scattered across their sibling 'Spells'.

With a mental shake of her head, she climbed up one of the flights of spiraling stairs that were apparently carved into the walls. /They seem satisfied enough, so there's not much I can do to push inter-Spell relations onto them./ She soon reached the Balcony, and took the empty seat next to Byakuran at the head of the table, with a curt nod of greeting for the captains.

* * *

The Balcony was a raised platform that jutted out partway across the Dining Hall, high above the heads of the diners underneath. It had garnered quite a reputation in the 2 ¾ months the Millefiore had existed; some had nicknamed the fanciful stairs as the 'Starring Steps', and the grand, lone dining table on the Balcony became the 'Elite Table'.

(Fran, upon first hearing of the nicknames, had cringed at the horrible cheesiness and clicheness of it all. Then she'd slapped her subordinates with cleaning duty and shooed them on their way.)

The story behind the 'Starring Steps' went as, "those who use the steps are nearly always either on their way to fame, or on their way to being kicked from fame", since those invited to eat on the Balcony were either higher-ups or those who Byakuran had an eye on. Being on Byakuran's "to-watch" list was always a very, very good thing, or a very, very bad thing. Thus, the whole "on their way" and "being kicked from" references in the explanation.

'Elite Table' was self-explanatory; it's regular diners, who didn't need invites, were only the co-Bosses and captains. A.k.a., Byakuran, Fran, Shoichi, Gamma, etc. The kitchen always offered them menus and waiters/waitresses as well.

* * *

"Oh~? What kept you so long, Francy-chan?" Byakuran asked curiously, swirling his fork around in his spaghetti.

(What? You thought that he exclusively ate marshmallows? Teens, even teens who were plotting to take over the world, needed their proper nutrition, you know. Dying from malnutrition would be a pitiful death for a Mafia Boss.)

The tealette didn't answer. She was still perusing the menu for today, hungry from the massive amount of Flames that Vi had drained. /Hmm… minestrone soup with garlic bread? Or a lasagna with a side of broccoli? Hot tea, of course.../

He pouted at being ignored by his counterpart. The white-haired boy persistently poked at her hat. "Answer me, Francy-chan~"

Internally annoyed, Fran flicked an illusion of a marshmallow at Byakuran. "I've told you before, _don't touch the hat_." she snapped warningly.

Byakuran counted it as his win, however, when she grudgingly explained. "I was choosing a Box Animal," Fran replied with a one-shouldered shrug.

She then turned back to the menu and called over a waiter to place her order.

Undeterred, Byakuran poked her again. "Which one did you choose? And where's Sho-chan, anyway?"

Shooting him a visibly irritated look, she smacked away his arm. "I _said_, _don't poke my hat!_ He's still in his private lab, probably stressing out over another public speaking role or something; it's funny, considering that you'd think he'd be used to being in the spotlight all the time. I mean, he _is_ kinda your best friend, and god knows how much you love your drama."

Byakuran grinned and winked at her, savoring another forkful of spaghetti. "Technically, what you said before was, 'don't touch the hat', not 'don't poke my hat'. And what's so bad about liking a little excitement now and then? Don't deny it, Francy-chan, because I know that you hate being bored, too. What was it that you said? Ah, I remember. Something along the lines of, 'I like things to be interesting. Otherwise, it's just a waste of my time.' Fitting, since you seem to prize efficiency so much."

"Well, it's true, isn't it? And it was the Farfalla di Nebbia, I think." Fran paused and turned slightly to face the captains. "Status report? Squad 1, Gray Spell Calendula, is progressing nicely, and a few people have advanced to Healer and Mediator status. Notable members of the week are Jacques and Rei; their Rain and Mist Flames have nearly reached C-rank."

"Decima! Squad 2, Black Spell Rosa, is done with the ranking tests and beginning sabotage training! Notable member of the week is Nosaru; his determination to fight with his 'bro' Tazaru and I is making his Flame training proceed faster than the average," Gamma saluted and reported, chewing on a steak and seemingly at ease with the familiar scene.

"Captain Shoichi Irie is running late today and may be missing dinner," Byakuran interjected smoothly when the remaining captains all swivelled to look at the empty chair of Squad 3. He lazily flipped his fingers in a dismissive gesture. "Continue without him."

"Decima and Byakuran-san! Squad 4, Black Spell Ciclamino, is done with partner training and prepared to move onto weapons handling! No notable members of the week," a nondescript man in the Black Spell uniform saluted.

"Boss Fran! Squad 5, Gray Spell Odontoglossum, is in the middle of basic defensive reinforcement lessons! No notable members of the week," a cool-mannered woman in the Gray Spell uniform stated briskly.

"Byakuran-sama and Fran-san! Squad 6, White Spell Mughetto, has just started wide-range battlefield tactics, having finished basic common tactics memorization! Notable member of the week is Leonardo Lippi, who has a very clear mind and a refreshing ingenious way of looking at difficult situations!" announced a stern woman who would've fit right in in an Army school.

"Byakuran-sama and Fran-san! Squad 7, White Spell Fiore del Cotone, is in the process of introducing basic poisons identification and immunition build-up! No notable member of the week, but a carpet-wielder called Baishana has proved to be antagonistic towards the Black and Gray Spell members. However, I will be working on resolving that issue with him."

"Byakuran-sama and Fran-san! Squad 8, White Spell Glicine, is in the mastery stage of infiltration and sabotage lessons! Notable members of the week are Ginger Bread and Cappuccino; Ginger's got talent with those 'dolls' of his, and Cappuccino's invented a way of weaponizing his hair," a glasses-wearing redhead cooed.

"There's been some harassment reports filed against you, Glo Xinia," Fran interrupted, maintaining her perpetually bored-with-life look. "About, what was it? Ah, yes, 'creeping on little girls'. See that there are no _more_ reports, or else you may find yourself demoted a few levels," she warned. /Hmph, that eccentric perv. No idea how he managed to get Captain. What's going through that head of Byakuran's? On second thought, I really don't want to know./

/His Rain Flames are strong, though; would he be a good option for my Fake Rain Funeral Wreath? ...Hmm, worth thinking about later,/ Byakuran mused.

"Decima! Squad 9, Black Spell Girasole, has progressed onto accuracy training from basic speed enhancement! No notable members of the week, but Beabankul, well, Nigella Beabankul, has been seen getting provoked by Squad 7's Baishana. Nigella has not yet risen to attack, and I am working on minimizing their interactions with each other. Baishana is still Squad 7's problem, however."

Squad 10 and 11 reported with no notable occurrences. Fran nodded at them and was pleased at how her appointed captains for the Gray Spell squads seemed well-adjusted so far.

"Lord Byakuran and Madam Fran! Squad 12, White Spell Camellia, is nearly done with the introductory course for bioengineering! Notable member of the week is Miss Iris Hepburn, who shows much ambition for a career in weapons design! Unfortunately, several of the scientists in the labs seem smitten and infatuated with her, obeying her every whim in an attempt to please her, and it is severely affecting their concentration. I'll be having words with them later."

The rest of the captains gave generic reports of no importance.

* * *

At the end of the reports, the two Millefiore Bosses let the captains return to their food, while they returned to their conversation.

"There are still issues with the whole inter-Spell unity thing," Fran sighed, carefully nursing a steaming cup of tea and sipping her soup.

Byakuran shrugged. "They seem to be fine with the Gray Spell, though."

"Well of course they are; the Gray Spell has members from both the Giglio Nero and the Gesso, so they can't act antagonistically towards it as a whole, or else they're also targeting their own allies, or at least former Famiglia members. It was _torture_ getting the Gray Spell to work together in the beginning; even now, with their tentative peace pacts, they tend to either pair off with someone from their former Famiglia, or lone it.

"It's not too bad, I guess, since they don't actively target each other or the other Spells, but it took at _least_ ten people getting landed into the infirmary for mental trauma before they figured out, 'oh, hey, maybe we should shut our traps and at get along somewhat peacefully before our very annoyed Spell Head has to inflict any more mentally traumatizing punishments with her quite creative illusions!' Those _idiots_. Even _paperwork_ was better than dealing with them at the start. Eh, well, at least they're nice and compliant now," she shook her head, slumping slightly against her chair.

Lavender eyes peered at her critically. "Are you alright? You seem more tired than usual. And more easily irritated. This is the most emotions you've shown in public… ever."

"And why would _you_ care?" the tealette grumped, blowing her bangs away from her forehead.

"What? Can't I just be a concerned friend?" He tried for the 'innocent look'.

"Since when were we friends?" Suspicious eyes darted over to him.

"Ah, fine, fine, have it your stubborn way. Colleagues, then?"

Fran sighed again, and finished off her soup. "I'm just running low on Flames right now. Feels like I tried pulling an all-nighter without my precious tea and guava candies. Or like a mild hangover. I don't know. I've never drank before. And as you can guess, I seem to have much less control over my mouth right now, so I'll just go off to bed for a nap before I say anything that could possibly be held against me later on. Later."

Byakuran watched with a subtly worried gaze as she went back down the stairs and straight out of the Dining Hall.

* * *

"Here, month three's Mare Ring."

A hand reached out to catch the dropped glint of silver. Fingers turned over the winged band to examine the blue stone.

"Hey, Francy-chan."

Half-lidded, dull eyes glanced back briefly to meet with crescent-shaped slits.

"Hm?"

The slits opened wider to reveal thoughtful lavender irises. Underneath, a dagger-sharp smile slowly unfurled.

"How'd you like another little sister? There's this girl who loves to swim; I think she'd be perfect."

A sigh, a reluctant agreement.

"I'm assuming we're not going in order then?"

Satisfaction poured into the smile.

"Of course not. Storms can enjoy their lava a little later on. Rain doesn't last forever, you know; better snatch them up quick in that little snippet of opportunity."

* * *

_**#**_

_**#**_

_**#**_

_**And to make up for the last chapter, here's a chapter with up to 90% more Byakuran! (And marshmallows and plotting smiles!)**_

_**#**_

_**#**_

_**~Please Review~**_

_**~I love reviews like Lambo loves grape candy.~**_


	10. Respiration

**Summary:**

_Fran's not dumb; she can tell she's only a replacement. She's Yuni's elder sister, but it was official that Yuni would be Boss after Aria died; it's clear everyone liked her kind, gracious and cheery attitude over Fran's indifferent, cold and cynical one. Yuni was the trusting, benevolent "Aria's daughter". Fran was the suspicious, bitter "spitting image of Aria's husband". She's even born with the "wrong" Flame; a strong primary Mist and a weak secondary Sky. But now that Yuni's vanished, Fran's the (grudging) Giglio Nero Boss, and will be the one meeting with Gesso. She's got a bad feeling about their Boss, though; Byakuran's intrigued by a Fran who differs from her parallel selves. Meanwhile, Yuni being gone has a greater significance than any of them realize. TYL!Fran, Fem!Fran, Very AU._

**Disclaimer:**

_KHR! rights go to Akira Amano._

_The cover picture is not mine. It belonged to an insanely talented deviantart artist who I have no way of contacting, so please don't sue me._

* * *

**Reviews:**

_Thank you, '__**Someonepassingby**__', for your review. I love long reviews~ :] And here's a snippet of 'In Another Life':_

"_Ushishishi~ the mushroom is getting annoying~"_

_Thunk. Thunk._

"_Ouch. I thought I was a peasant? It's the hat, isn't it? -Sigh- It's always the hat. And you wound me, __fallen prince__. You truly do. Like, literally. These knives are kinda itchy."_

_Pull. Crumple. Drop._

"_I'm not a fallen prince, you mushroom peasant__. And don't just take out my knives and bend them! Aren't you supposed to hurt or fall over when they land?"_

"_Sorry-not-sorry, but I'm not very interested in keeping sharp pointy objects in my back for long periods of time. I'm not a masochist, thank you very much. If I need to store weapons I'll stash them in my hat. And I've been promoted to a 'mushroom peasant' now? What, are you expecting that I'll contract Stockholm Syndrome or something?"_

_Hopefully that'll tide you over until it actually comes out. ^^_

* * *

**Note:**

Bluebell's background is based off of the 'Hidden Bullet' (4th book) story, 'The Funeral Flower Withers', which is the canon story of Bluebell's entrance into the Millefiore as a Funeral Wreath.

* * *

**Quotes:**

'_I need to get back to the pool, I need to keep swimming, I need to be __free__ to __forget__...' - Bluebell_

"_I don't personally significance of a cup of water, but whatever makes you happy, I suppose." - Fran_

"_I've got a ways to go before I'd be convinced to spill my guts to a complete stranger who's literally being paid to listen to my problems and report them." - Fran_

"_And that's because you're too suspicious of everyone, Francy-chan. And you pretty much lack any faith in the inner kindness of human nature. I mean, not that I believe in that either." - Byakuran _

"_I don't need chance; I make my own luck." - Byakuran_

"_No idea where that whole 'older sister' thing came from, though. Maybe your latent maternal instincts?~ Very, very latent maternal instincts." - Byakuran_

'_I can't believe that no one demanded there be a restriction on my abuse, er, usage of my 'Clairvoyance' to cheat [in cards]._

_Hah._

_Suckers.' - Fran_

* * *

_Splash, splash._

_Struggle._

_Kick._

_Gasp._

…

…

… _**Sink**__._

A bluette young girl jerked up, sucking in a lungful of air with wild, panicky eyes.

Pressing a spread-out hand to her chest, she slowly calmed down.

/Breathe... in, out, in, out.

_Breathe... in, out, in, out._

**_Breathe... in, out, in, out._**

**_Breathe... in, out, in, out._**/

"The… hospital?" she murmured confusedly to herself, glancing around the brightly lit room.

It _was_ a hospital. White walls blocked her in on all sides, provoking a sense of nausea. She had been lying down on a standard, nondescript hospital bed; a pile of pillows propped her up.

Glancing down, she flexed her fingers once, twice, and then began carefully rearranging the covers that'd been throw off in her awakening. Keeping her hands busy while she thought was a familiar habit.

/I… was swimming, I remember.

Swimming with my only friend.

Water. _Water's _my only friend.

That's where I belong.

That's where I can feel _free_.

But wait.

How did I end up here?

The school pool was where I was swimming.

That's… pretty close to this hospital, I think.

So yes, I was swimming.

And then.

Then?

Then… my legs cramped up… and I… froze?

I was drowning.

Oh.

Huh.

And then.

A person saved me?

I can't recall his face…

Mysterious./

Shrugging it off, the girl nudged off the last of her covers and swung herself sideways, until her legs were dangling a few inches above the tiled ground. She gingerly touched her toes down onto the floor, and shivered. /Cold./

Bracing herself, she pushed off of the bed and stood wobbily for a few seconds, before stabilizing.

Encouraged by this small victory, ( /I need to get back to the pool, I need to keep swimming, I need to be _free_ to _forget_.../ ) she took a step forward.

And.

Promptly collapsed.

"Ah-!"

Her left arm grabbed onto the metal rails of the bed in an attempt to keep herself from face-faulting onto the ground, while her right arm flailed wildly. A touch of something brushed against her fingernails, and she registered a little too late that she'd just knocked her _friend_ down from the bedside table.

Widened blue eyes (blue like the sea and the waves and the streams and the ripples and her _friend_) stared unseeingly at the falling object. Her right arm stretched out again, trying to grab it.

"No-!"

A pale hand, with fingers slender and smooth and _fast_, shot out and caught it right before it would've hit the ground.

"Is this yours?"

The blue eyes of the shocked girl traveled upwards, spotting the person who had saved her _friend_. She gratefully accepted her _friend_ from the offered hand, and managed to get out a trembling answer.

"Y-y-yes, thank you!"

A thin eyebrow arched at her words, and the person, a teal-haired girl a few years older than herself, reached up to adjust her poofy white hat.

/It looks like a mushroom, kinda.../

"Well," the tealette drawled out, gracefully taking the visitor's chair a few feet away from the bed, and blinking down at her with blank eyes half-lidded in apparent boredom, "I don't personally significance of a cup of water, but whatever makes you happy, I suppose." She paused for a second, and her lids opened up all the way, clearing some of the dull disinterest in her equally teal eyes. "Does it?"

The blue-haired and -eyed girl, still sprawled halfway on the floor, hurriedly got back up and seated herself back on the bed, with minor reluctance. Carefully placing her _friend_ on the table again, she then turned her obviously befuddled gaze onto her visitor. "Er, what do you mean?"

With a nearly noiseless creak of the hinges, a white-haired teen slipped in through the door. He strode over and stayed standing, resting both elbows lightly on the tealette's shoulders, offering the bed-ridden girl a cheery grin with crescent-creased eyes.

(The tealette appeared minutely irritated, but an air of resignation to this fate hung heavily around her.)

"What she means is," the boy explained with a good-humored chuckle, "does having your cup of water make you happy?" He also paused and opened his eyes fully, revealing lavender irises sharp with observation. "Are you happy right now?"

Bewildered, the younger girl hesitated first. /He… he sounds just like Brother did… gentle voice and all.../ Deciding to trust the the strangers, she answered as honestly as she knew how.

"I… I know that water makes me happy. It's… it's my only friend, see? But… I don't know if I'm happy right now. I don't remember much, actually. I do know that I'll be happy if I could just be able to _swim_ again…!" Frustrated, she wrung her hands, all tangled up in the sheets.

The two teens looked assessingly at her for a moment. A long silence draped across them.

The older girl stood up suddenly. She glanced at the closed door.

"We need to leave. Her parents and doctor are coming in a few minutes."

Startled, the bluette moved towards them instinctively, reaching out as if to try and grasp them. "W-wait! Please don't leave me alone!"

The boy glanced back at her, almost to the door. His eyes softened. "Rest, little girl. We'll be back soon. You'll have remembered your name by then, I hope. Don't worry. It's just a few days. So simply… _sleep_."

At 'sleep', pale fingers ('the tealette,' she thought, 'it must be her') snapped from outside the room, and the girl on the bed suddenly felt very, very drowsy indeed.

"W-wait… _brutherr_…" she slurred, fighting to stay awake even as the door clicked shut.

She sank slowly back into the mound of pillows.

/Wait… I… I remember.../

Footsteps in the hallways hurried towards the direction of her room.

/That my… my name.../

The door clicked open again, admitting a man in a doctor's outfit and two well-dressed adults, probably parents.

/My name is.../

"Bluebell!"

And then the little blue-haired and -eyed girl remembered no more, safe in the grips of slumber even as her mother and father leaned worriedly over her, fretting.

* * *

"Wow, is Bluebell a mess," Fran commented casually, strolling carelessly down the sidewalk of the suburbs with Byakuran.

He frowned, not in the mood for regular banter when his Rain Funeral Wreath was, indeed, "a mess".

"She nearly drowned after losing her brother, of _course_ she has some issues," he admitted.

They turned a corner.

He continued, "And her fixation on the whole 'water is my only friend' thing isn't _too_ bad; it fits her Flames, anyway."

Both Millefiore Bosses stopped in front of an office building, before heading inside.

"I fail to see how that relates to you faking a psychology degree," Fran remarked dryly as she prodded the elevator buttons.

Then she paused for a brief moment and amended that statement.

"Okay, so I now see how that relates, but doesn't it seem a little too dependent on chance? You might not be picked as her counselor, you know, and she may decide to not confide in and bond with you at all. I know _I_ wouldn't in her non-existent shoes; I've got a ways to go before I'd be convinced to spill my guts to a complete stranger who's literally being _paid_ to listen to my problems and report them."

Byakuran sighed and shook his head, also stopping her from jabbing the floor buttons repeatedly. "Stop that, you'll break the elevator. Again. And that's because you're too suspicious of everyone, Francy-chan. And you pretty much lack any faith in the inner kindness of human nature. I mean, not that I believe in that either. Besides, I don't need chance; I make my own luck. I'll be hired, and I'll get her to open up and accept. You can even go back to base right now if you wanted," he added absently.

Now it was Fran's turn to frown. She twisted slightly and peered up critically at him. "Are you sure? What happened to, 'oh, hey, you wanna ditch work for a week and see my recruitment of another Funeral Wreath firsthand, so that you can get to know them and all that'?"

He half-heartedly raised and dropped one shoulder, the perfect mimicry of her own shrug. "You've been running low on Flames again this past week or so; ever since you got your new Box Weapon. Is it a crime if I just wanted to let you relax a little in the base and take it easy so that you could properly recharge your Flames? You could even get some more practice in with it, maybe figure out a way to minimize the drain of the Farfalla di Nebbia. That's what you wanted, wasn't it?"

Her replying words were slow and hesitant. "Since when did you care so much about what my health and what I wanted?"

Another shrug, and a flash of a smile that seemed just a shade more genuine than the ones he usually gave. "Can't I just _care?_"

Fran didn't say anything for a while as they got off of the elevator and started striding towards a room labeled 'Registration Office'.

Then she nodded, just as slow and hesitant as before. "Okay." /I guess there's nothing wrong with that./

And an hour later, when they stepped out of the building and began parting ways, him to the hospital of his future Rain Funeral Wreath and her to the waiting car that would ferry her back to the Millefiore base, she walked a few steps away and then stopped.

"And… thanks," Fran muttered under her breath, so softly that she was sure the wind had blown it straight away.

Byakuran smiled to himself when he heard the sound of her boots starting up again, fading away.

/No need to thank me, Francy-chan./

* * *

When Byakuran entered the secret, hidden base of the Funeral Wreaths a week later, with a nervous Rain Mare Ring-wearing Bluebell tightly clutching his side, he was greeted with the sight of two people playing cards and drinking tea, their hair colors only a few tints apart.

"Welcome back, Lord Byakuran!" enthused Kikyo, setting down his cards carefully.

Fran just tilted her head at them and nodded in acknowledgement. "Hey," she greeted off-handedly, taking another sip and rifling through her cards. "You're late."

Bluebell immediately jumped out in front of Byakuran with a defensive scowl, crossing her arms with an angry pout. "Don't talk to Byakuran-nii like that, old hag!"

When Fran merely raised an eyebrow, Bluebell blinked in recognition, perhaps triggered by the familiar arching of the teal eyebrow. She pointed a finger at her. "You're that girl who caught my _friend_ for me! Then if Byakuran is my nii-san, you're my Fran-nee!"

Happy with her logic, the Rain then ran over to hug the illusionist, who stiffened upon contact but didn't do much else besides turn her raised eyebrow upon the white-haired teen in the doorway.

"Oh, hi, Kikyo. I hope you've been settling in fine with the living quarters," he answered first, with a wave. "Eh, well, she really missed her older brother, so I said she could pretend _I'm_ her older brother. No idea where that whole 'older sister' thing came from, though. Maybe your latent maternal instincts?~ Very, very latent maternal instincts," Byakuran finished with a grin and a wink.

Fran just hummed noncommittally, and plucked out a King of Hearts.

Kikyo glanced at it, and sighed regretfully, pushing over a pile of chips to her. "I fold," he announced.

Her blank expression gained a pleased tinge. /Perfected poker face, right here./ Shifting slightly so that Bluebell wouldn't be hanging halfway off of a chair anymore, she then spoke up without taking her eyes off of her cards. "Sit down, Byakuran," she ordered. "We're playing for marshmallows and more tea. There's already a cup for you."

As way of explanation, she tapped a finger to her temple and added, "'Clairvoyance', remember?"

Smiling, Byakuran took the reserved seat and selected a hand of cards.

They played throughout the rest of the afternoon, with Bluebell watching avidly, until a break for dinner.

Fran trounced all of them soundly.

She went to sleep with a more relaxed expression than usual.

/I can't believe that no one demanded there be a restriction on my abuse, er, _usage _of my 'Clairvoyance' to cheat.

Hah.

Suckers./

* * *

_**#**_

_**#**_

_**#**_

_**Because let's face it, if any of the Sky Arcobaleno weren't the perfect, generous, kind people they were, they could've totally ruled the casinos as awesome card sharks.**_

_**And just because it fit, here's some fluffy 10026 moments to balance out the tragic crying that apparently occurred because of 'Madness and Mayhem and Magic' (or so I was told in reviews).**_

_**You're welcome. ;]**_

_**#**_

_**#**_

_**~Please Review~**_

_**~I prize reviews like Mammon/Viper prizes money, cash, treasure, paychecks, jewels, coins, gold, precious metals and minerals, etc.~**_

_**(And did I mention money, money, and more money?)**_


	11. Cogitation

**Summary:**

_Fran's not blind, and Fran's not deaf; she can tell she's only a replacement. Yuni was the trusting, benevolent "Aria's daughter". Fran was the suspicious, bitter "spitting image of that-guy-who-married-Aria". She's even born with the "wrong" Flame; a strong primary Mist and a weak secondary Sky. But now that Yuni's vanished, Fran's the (grudging) Giglio Nero Boss. Byakuran's intrigued by a Fran who differs so drastically from her parallel selves. Meanwhile, Yuni being gone has a greater significance than any of them realize._

**Disclaimer:**

_KHR! rights go to Akira Amano._

_The cover picture may or may not be mine, depending on which one I'm using. I tend to switch frequently. In case it isn't mine, then this is a general disclaimer for that. So, yeah. Don't sue me, please._

**Note:**

_/insert words here/ are thoughts._

_Assume__ that they are speaking Italian unless otherwise stated or implied. Fran is canon-ly French, so her father here is French, and she is fluent in it. When stressed and cursing, whether out loud or mentally, she has a tendency to slip and slide back into French. __So, congratulation, you will probably be picking up an assortment of French profanity._

* * *

**Reviews:**

_Thank you, '__**ADDBaby**__', for your reviews. As always, your emoticons leave me cracking up. :] And I suspect that if it was actually Romeo and Juliet, Byakuran would've just killed off Paris and tried to woo Fran with marshmallows. Fran would then be severely unimpressed, but agree to go with him anyway, because 'being here is boring and banishment sounds more interesting'. _

_Thank you, '__**Someonepassingby**__', for your review. I wonder if anyone noticed that the reason Bluebell called Fran 'Fran-nee' was mostly because she assumed Fran was in a relationship with Byakuran, her 'nii-san'? I mean, Fran and Byakuran and Kikyo just think that it's because Fran was there at the beginning with Byakuran, so Bluebell thinks of her as an older sister-figure. Yeah, __no__. xp I've always envisioned Bluebell as a devious little avid "shipper" who likes to meddle with people's love lives; she will now be dropping hints and nudge-nudge-wink-winks throughout the rest of the chapters for comedic effect. :] _

* * *

"It's inefficient for a leader to curse at their subordinates or other people and insult them. Which is why I do it mentally." - Fran

* * *

**Extra Scene**

**(hats and worlds and peace, in roughly that order):**

"... ? ..."

"... :] ..."

"... ... ..."

"... ;] ... ~ ..."

"... So ... Don't you have anything better to do than to come down to the Gray Spell training rooms and look over my shoulders like a creeper? Literally? Oh, wait, I forgot. You _are_ a creeper, aren't you? Creeper. See, you're still creeping," Fran asks/accuses blandly, slapping away another hat-poke from Byakuran.

He 'closed-eye smiles' behind her and reaches to poke it again.

"Nope, Francy-chan. Your hat's just so poofy and mushroom-shaped. Too poofy for you to expect me not to poke it. It's like a Giant Lever of Doom, or a Big Red Button of Mass Destruction. It just _begs_ me to poke it. Like a marshmallow~! Why do you even insist on wearing it? I thought you were Miss Efficient and Stealthy; wouldn't wearing an attention-catching hat like that in battle practically _scream_ 'target me'?"

His tone is playfully sing-song like normal, but Byakuran truly does want to know.

/_What's the importance of the hat, anyway? One more piece to the puzzle of Fran..._/

Flicking another illusion marshmallow at him with annoyance, she doesn't answer for a while, and keeps going through her staff katas.

(The 'sphere' capping the staff has been carefully removed and set on the nearby bench, transforming the scepter into it's original battle form.)

If he hasn't been interacting with the tealette illusionist for nearly four months now, Byakuran will have assumed naturally enough that she's chosen to ignore his question out of pointed irritation.

As it is, he can tell by the slight furrow of her brow and the downward twitch of her mouth that his counterpart is simply seriously contemplating the matter. She would have chased him out of the room if she truly hadn't wanted to answer.

So he waits patiently by the benches, leaning on the cold iron bars of the bleachers' guardrails behind him, and watches her move fluidly through the blocking positions.

"You're lucky that there's no one else scheduled to be in this training room today," Fran finally says, abrupt, still focusing on correcting her grip, experimentally twirling her staff this way and that, a metallic silver blur going in half-circles.

Byakuran stays quiet and listens.

He's learned, through trial and frustrating error, that Fran is actually quite a talkative person, even though she's also quite a contemplative person.

Provided that you guide in her in the right directions without making it too obvious, of course, and let her talk through her thoughts, work it out verbally, and make your presence muted enough that she can get lost in her words, slip out more than she intends, forgetting her usual tight-lipped carefulness around other people.

She flips the staff from her right hand to her left hand, braces it accordingly against her shoulder, stalks around one of the training dummies in a circle, and strikes out at it with more force than is probably required, raising and throwing her weapon in a downward stabbing motion.

The dummy's head is speared clean through, despite the rounded bluntness of the staff, sand and Styrofoam alike spilling out in waves of bronzed and ivory trickles.

Fran removes her staff in one quick, smooth motion, looking over her handiwork with a minor frown; most likely disapproving of what she deems to be the 'poor craftmanship' of the training dummies.

(When in a musing mood, she tends to underestimate her own strength, and thus blames the dummy for breaking, not considering that perhaps she merely exerted more strength in a fit of venting. )

"The hat… what can I say? It's tradition, I guess. For the Giglio Nero Boss and the Giglio Nero heiresses and heirs. There's never been a heir, actually. Just heiresses. Sometimes it's the Boss wearing it, sometimes it's just the heiress. Sometimes, it's both. And even though I'm not really the Giglio Nero Decima anymore… and even though I was never meant to be heiress at all, I still wear it because… it's a comfort? I don't know. I don't know if I've _ever_ known.

"It's just that... once Aria died and… Yuni disappeared, I commissioned a new Heiress hat. Since, well, Aria's was buried with her like usual, and Yuni's hat went with her. Wherever it is that... she went. The significance of the hat itself is… complicated.

"I'm… not really Boss. Not _really_. I'm _still_ just the heiress who didn't even get a _hat_ before the other heiress _vanished_. I didn't even have the primary Sky Flames, and apparently that's a much, much bigger deal than people feel comfortable acknowledging outright. The Giglio Nero were desperate, though, and they needed someone to lead.

"I was the easiest choice. It kinda stung, y'know? I was only chosen because they needed a Donna, fast, so they picked me on account of the technicalities of my heritage, and because I at least _had_ Sky Flames of some sort. If they had another possibility, they would've taken them, any day. Before the Millefiore merger, I know for a fact that there were more than a few people covertly checking the Giglio Nero family trees for any possible inheritors to contest my right to rule. And had they found any of suitable age and gender and Flames, I admit that they probably would've won, just because of majority support, and because I had no Guardians yet. A lot were doubting if my Sky Flames were sufficiently strong enough to even emit Sky Attraction, and if they could reach Harmonization or not. _I_ was doubting, too.

"And now? ...Like I said, I don't know.

"It feels… natural, now. It's handy, too; my own personal storage area. And it's a status symbol of a sort. It reminds the Giglio Nero that I _was_ their Boss, no matter how they might want to think, that I _am_ their Boss, despite us being Millefiore now, and me handing off the reins to Gamma. Some part of me will always refer to myself as Giglio Nero, born and unfortunately raised. Though, perhaps I'm a bit too harsh on them. And... perhaps I'm too lenient."

Fran shrugs, and manages works a slashing motion with her bo staff into the shrug, which coaxes a faint smile to grace her lips.

She doesn't mention anything else about the hat after that.

/_My hair… my head feels uncomfortable with it off. Vulnerable. It's… protection. Yes, protection. It draws away attention, draws it to the symbol of power, reminds people of the power I possess. Power is control, control is power. It reminds me that I have the power to control my own life. ...Even if that's a bold-faced lie, so long as no one else sees through it, it's the truth, isn't it? There's no difference between an unfound lie and an accepted true. No difference at all._/

.

She changes the subject, dropping to the floor, and practices springing to her feet with her weapon in her hands.

"What are your plans for the future?"

Byakuran props up the side of his face with the flat of his palm, twisting sideways for his elbow tor est on top of the railing.

"Hmm~? Whatever do you mean, Francy-chan?"

A jab, a thwack, and the training dummy's head falls off completely.

"You know what I mean, Byakuran. I've told you plenty of things, haven't I? You know what Clairvoyance can do. And you should know that, as a Giglio Nero heiress, the former keepers of the Mare Rings, I know what each one can do. What the _Sky_ Mare Ring can do. So what's your game plan, Byakuran? _What's your end-game?_"

Her tone remains remarkably indifferent, with only curiosity coloring it.

/_So far, no opposition,_/ he analyzes, and smiled accordingly, brighter, fiercer.

"Well, Francy-chan, why don't you tell me? You're right, I do know what Clairvoyance can do. So... what have _you_ Seen so far with your Clairvoyance?"

"Destruction, carnage, you eating marshmallows, the usual. I'm still Millefiore in the future, it appears, which means I've somehow deemed it to be wroth sticking around for. And Shoichi looked nervous and disapproving. He gets better at faking a 'confident, cool, and collected leader' in public speaking, however."

The smile doesn't dim, doesn't wane, not in the slightest.

"Ah, I've always felt that Sho-chan wouldn't approve very much of my way of doing things. How about you?"

An eloquent silence follows, wordlessly prompting Byakuran to elaborate.

He graciously does.

"As in, what do _you_ think?"

"... I approve of efficiency," Fran says slowly, thoughtfully, pausing in her katas to tilt her head up to the lights, close her eyes, and _think._

She starts up the katas again, still voluntarily blinded.

"I approve of efficiency, because I dislike boredom. I like things to be interesting, as you've said before."

A one-shouldered shrug and a sideways sweep that harshly indents the gut of another dummy.

"If I stuck around in the future, and you haven't offed me by then, then I suppose that my future self didn't _disapprove_, at the very least. She probably didn't care too much, anyway. Efficiency, you know? Whatever gets the job done as fast as possible. If it's boring. To make way, to make time, for more interesting things. I can allow a certain measure of inefficient elongation for interesting things, since those things tend to be over far too quickly, and a lifetime of monotony is unappealing to say the least.

"Peace is many things, many adjectives and ideals and truths to many, many people, but 'exciting' and 'interesting' do not tend to be in it's numerous descriptions. Although, human beings, as a race that is in and of itself fundamentally flawed, can't help but squabble and clash all the time. Peace... I wouldn't call it _impossible_, because that's just jinxing it, but for a viable method to reach world peace... there would need to be many outlets for energy, I imagine. Work out the pent-up emotions that will result. Some people aren't happy unless they're unhappy, and some people live solely for fighting and carnage and death. How would those people handle peace? Arguably, about a quarter of Millefiorians can be counted under those two descriptions, and about half of the Mafia.

"... But that's off-track now. You still haven't answered my question, Byakuran. What are you aiming for?"

If Fran glances towards Byakuran at that very moment, she would've seen him looking uncharacteristically pensive.

"Is that... what you really think of peace?"

His tone deadens out into the unreadable tone that _she_ usually uses.

Incorrectly interpreting his answer as an attempted evasion, Fran sighs, "That's just answering a question with a question."

Byakuran laughs and raises up his hands in a mock surrender, tone livening up again.

"I remember you asked me that at our first meeting. Oh, how long ago that seems, eh? You asked me, 'what will you do with the power?' Did I remember that right?"

"And you replied, 'I haven't really thought about it.' Yes, I remember," Fran nods.

"Well, I suppose I lied," he shrugs. "I _have_ thought about it, see? Extensively, as a matter of fact."

"...You aren't going to tell me, are you?" she guesses in a deadpan.

"Not right now, no, Francy-chan. But you _have_ been quite open with me, so I suppose it's my turn to repay the favor, huh? Alright, then: the reason I know all that I know, the reason I have all of this planned out, have all my Wreaths and uniforms and names, is because a future me sent back ten years of memories. So I'm ten years ahead, you could say."

Fran puts on an expression of obvious doubt, as she repeatedly light up and extinguishes the Mist Flames covering her staff.

"Future you? That's impossible, though; memories can't be transferred through time, only space, because otherwise they haven't happened yet, and the time-space continuum will erase them. Plus, the whole 'time travel' thing isn't really true. It's just parallel worlds and sometimes universes. Even my Clairvoyance is just selecting a vision from a parallel world whose timeline is the best match for my own, and is the most likely to turn out to be what will happen to me."

"Very astute of you, Francy-chan. Yes, you're correct. Absolutely correct. It wasn't really a future me, because they would've branched off into another parallel world. It was a parallel me whose world was ten years ahead of us, and decided to lend a hand. I don't know what happened to his world after he transferred his memories. It's impossible to view all of the parallel worlds, after all, since there are infinitely many, and not all of my parallels are alive and capable of being connected to. His world was different from this one, too."

"How so?"

Byakuran beams innocently at her. Fran isn't fooled; she can glimpse the sly mischief in his eyes.

.

"Well," he starts off casually, picking at his lavender-painted nails (which Bluebell had insisted persistently on), "for one, you were a guy, about six years younger than you are right now, and you were living in Jura, France with your grandmother and had no relations to the Giglio Nero. Your father was still a very strong Mist, though in that universe his Flames were unlocked and he wasn't a civilian, your mother was an Inverted Mist thief with internalized Rain Flames, and you still had a penchant for large and food-shaped hats. Later on, large and animal-shaped hats."

While the tealette freezes in the middle of her katas, he bulldozes on merrily, mirthful in startling the often unstartleable. "Oh, and you became Varia later on, learning more than the mandatory 6 languages, I believe it was French, Italian, Russian, German, Japanese, Chinese, English, Korean, Hindi?, apprenticing under a pineapple, and became quite a nuisance to the Millefiore later on with your Mist Flames. Died quite young, though. Around 20?"

(Tactfully, Byakuran leaves out the inconvenient fact that it had been parallel!Byakuran who had ordered her death.

_His_ death, since it'd been parallel!Fran.

It would have erased much of the hard-earned trust and rapport that he had painstakingly, carefully, deliberately built up so far, making her cooperation to be more difficult in achieving, setting back some of his plans.

And it's not like _he'd_ order her death now.

Not without very very_ very_ good reason, and a near 100% chance of it succeeding.

She is too useful and strong to be a throwaway pawn; not half-bad companionship, either, and he often comes to wheedle at her whenever Sho-chan's busy.

[As much as Fran might say otherwise, Byakuran has found her to be quite susceptible to folding under repeated annoyance and bargain deals, thus rendering his wheedling effective something like 72.9% of the time. It helps that he's talented in the area of convincing-people-to-do-things-they-ordinarily-would-never-think-of-doing.]

Besides, telling her about a minor fact she wouldn't otherwise _ever_ find out makes _no sense_ in the tactical point of view.

Because, contrary to what Fran seems to expect of him usually, he does have logic and reasoning skills. Good ones, too.

Parallel!Byakuran isn't even _him_; just, well, someone sharing his name and appearance and partial personality and history and, um... okay, this isn't aiding his argument.

But Fran grew up in the Giglio Nero, she should know the difference between parallels, right?

And theoretically, she should not hold a grudge against someone whose parallel killed _her_ parallel, right?

Theoretically...

Ah, it's just simpler, and less headache-inducing, to leave out that inconvenient fact altogether.)

Fran holds up a hand in the universal gesture of "stop".

Finally ending her katas, she begins twisting the sphere-cap back onto her staff.

"How does one apprentice under a _fruit? _I wasn't aware that fruits are capable of gaining sentience, advanced intelligence, relative mobility, develop characteristics, and evolve to wield the ability of producing Dying Will Flames, Sky _or_ Earth. Certainly, even the now-extinct Estraneo wouldn't have pursued that sort of experimentation; that concept is a bit too radical and devoid of usefulness for even _them_. I don't even like pineapples; they're too sour, hard to peel, and prickly. Also, I really don't need to hear about how I'd look as a 9-year-old. Or how I'd look as a guy. Or what my parallel's hat had turned out to be. Twice.

"But _Varia_? The independent assassination squad of the Vongola who basically consists of a moody meat-obsessed alcoholic with anger-management and daddy-issues, a loud-mouthed 'shark' who looks like a girl with all that hair, a rainbow-mohawk gaylord peacock self-proclaimed 'mother', an Arcobaleno with a money fetish who can find anyone by _sneezing_, a lightning pervert who obsessed over their 'boss' and fights with _umbrellas_, and a sadomasochistic knife-and-wire-using supposed 'prince' who obsesses over blood and has a creepy laugh and _also_ has family issues? _That_ Varia? It makes me wonder what possibly convinced me to join them._ If_ I even joined them willingly. Although it might be interesting to compare any differences in Box Weapons..."

"I'm fairly certain that every other Mafiosi has family issues of some sort. But yes, it appears that your _unique_ brand of honest humor hasn't changed a bit," Byakuran admits, finally turning down the vicious ferocity of his grin, returning to his more-or-less usual trademark smile.

He glances at her, sidelong. "Are you done training then? Working off the stress?"

She tiredly tugs at her hat-tassel out of force of habit; a stress tic that he recognizes and mentally files away for reference.

"Yes. It's been a stressful week. Paperwork, naturally, since the more confidential and sensitive material have to be checked by hand and Flame-verified, and more fights are breaking out between the Spells. Even my Gray Spells are getting sucked into it all, despite my explicit orders not to. It's _irritating_. Those _idiots_. And that Glo Xinia just keeps accumulating harassment reports. Nothing changes about them even after I give him warnings and demotes and punishments. Tell me again what compelled you to give him the Fake Rain Mare Ring? I… I'm taking the rest of today off, okay? I'll be playing cards with Kikyo again, probably. And maybe Bluebell. She's getting better at it, you know, though she still goes into fits of rage and pouts and sulks at the bottom of her… water-tank aquarium-thingy if she loses."

He hums, magnanimously listening to her rant.

"I just realized that I've never heard you curse before, Francy-chan. Like, _really_ curse, in an actual conversation. I'm quite sure I heard you cursing in a few different languages under your breath when we were retrieving Kikyo, however."

Fran looks thoroughly unrepentant.

"Those high heels were a nightmare to walk in. I still don't understand why we couldn't have just used illusions to blend in. I do try to avoid cursing when conversing, thank you very much. It's inefficient for a leader to curse at their subordinates or other people and insult them. Which is why I do it mentally. If I curse, I'm stressed and annoyed and in the presence of someone who I… don't care if they see me showing such visible emotions. That cursing under my breath doesn't really count."

They rest in a companionable silence for a moment, before she gets up from the bench and stretches leisurely with her scepter in hand.

Collecting her cloak and clothes, which she had earlier discarded in favor of a more suitable t-shirt, shorts, and sneakers, Fran turns to leave.

"I need to take a shower before I get to the Wreath base; the sweat's clinging to me," she mutters absently, mostly to herself.

Byakuran observes her step through the doorway and turn the corner, and then stands up as well.

"Well, no point lingering in the Gray Spell Training Rooms with nothing to do. I believe I can feasibly fit in a few hands of cards later… who needs a schedule when you _make_ the schedule, anyway? Other than than Francy-chan, of course, since she's a stickler for those things," he muses, hands in his pockets as he strides languidly into the labyrinthine hallways of the main Millefiore Italy Base. "Cards sound nice… later. Now, off to see my Sho-chan~!"

* * *

**Extra Scene**

**(that one training montage and ring drama):**

Fran is content today.

Very, very content.

Maybe even _happy_.

Why?

She finally made solid progress on her Box Animal, of course.

And if you start counting from the day she got the Farfalla di Nebbia (which is roughly 2 ½ months into the creation of the Millefiore Famiglia), then it has only taken her…

3 ½ months to figure out something useful about what the Farfalla di Nebbia can do.

Her mood suddenly took a sharp downturn when she realized that number.

In her defense, those months had been spent managing the newborn Millefiore Famiglia, ensuring things run smoothly and bases are established and footholds are built and all that.

They had also been spent dabbling with Vi's abilities, testing out possible options through trial and error, so technically today's 'breakthrough' had come as a result of 3 ½ months of laying down the groundwork.

Still pretty good, right?

/_I mean, we can't all be like stupidly perfect and overpowered paperwork-slacking Byakuran, who mastered **his** Box Animal in, like, a week. And naturally, it had to be a dragon. A dragon. How the hell did he get the scientists to make a **Dragon** Box Animal? Where would they get the DNA and body build for **that?**/_

...Okay, so maybe she isn't exactly happy after all.

But she is definitely content.

Her lips twitch upwards when Fran recalls the training session earlier in the day, when she had gotten through to Vi.

The almost-smile stays on her face, even as she scans her hand and the doors of Byakuran's private office whir open with a faint, mechanical purr.

Even as Fran clutches the last Mare Ring in her hand, the Mist Mare Ring, ready to hand over.

Byakuran looks up from behind his desk and smiles.

It's not his usual smile.

Fran doesn't have time to analyze the specifics of that particular smile, however, since her Mist Mare Ring is glowing with invisible warmth, as all active Mare Rings do when nearing the Sky Mare Ring.

_._

_._

_._

_/This is stupid./ _Fran thought mutinously as she suffered yet another headache.

Vi flapped her wings once in her version of a shrug.

They were currently in a Gray Spell training room, reserved especially for her Box Animal training.

The Farfalla di Nebbia was trying to explain to its Summoner about the many possibilities of it's abilities, but Vi was not programmed to be a teacher, and it showed.

It didn't really help, either, when it turned out that the Box Animal itself only knew how to state what it could do, and had no knowledge on 'creative tactics', since it's sentience technically matures with time spent in proximity to it's User.

In other words, Vi was the weapon, and it was up to the user, Fran, to figure out how to use the weapon effectively.

Having been at it for two hours already, the duo had not gotten any farther than rehashing the list of Vi's attributes.

_/Okay, okay. So you can spit fireballs of pure Mist Flames and sling them from your antennae and tongue. _

_You also naturally have no presence, scent, sound, or smell, though you __**can**__ be felt and seen. _

_You require no sustenance except for Flames, and will vanish back into the Box if you run out of Flames; however, Mist Flames can be willingly donated to you to keep you going. _

_If you receive permission, you can 'connect' to one's mind and telepathically communicate with them, which is signified by your antennae lighting up with a gray light, but that 'telepathy' can only work with one person at a time. It also doesn't require any Flames. _

_Your Flames won't hurt me, because they were once __**my**__ Flames._

_You can dispel your fireballs and suck the Flames back into your personal reserves. _

_The only illusion you can cast to change your own appearance is changing how your wings look._

_Oh, and the spines on your tail can be shot painlessly and un-noticeably; the spines are invisibly coated with Mist Flames once released and rapidly dissolve after contact./_

Fran paused to glance at the large butterfly perched serenely on an illusionary perch a few inches away from her nose.

_/Did I miss anything?/_

Vi wing-shrugged again.

_-_No, I don't think so._-_

The human of the two frowned deeply.

_/But none of that would be __**useful**__! How are you classified as an A-rank espionage and combat-type?/_

_-_I am merely the means, Summoner. **You** must realize how to reach the end. I was not built to formulate uses. Besides, you are a Mist Flame-user and a very proficient illusionist, are you not? Use your imagination. Think 'outside-of-the-Box'._-_

Fran had quickly picked up upon her blandly detached and logical Box Animal's strange fondness for metaphors, similes, allusions, and bad puns. It was odd, but it gave the otherwise rather alien Vi a more approachable dimension.

So she thought.

And thought.

And thought some more.

Before giving up (again) and hurling an illusionary rock at the wall (again).

It bounced off and disappeared as she dispelled the illusion, but not before creating another dent in the neat line of them in the wall.

(All of them were from illusionary rocks, except for the ones that were from illusionary boulders [which were the ones that she usually resorted to on the really, really frustrating days].)

_-_I can offer a suggestion, Summoner._\- _

Vi's tone was as pleasantly calm as ever, centering Fran's frustration.

_-_Think, for a moment, about that illusionary rock you just threw. Why did it affect the wall just like a real rock would? What happened to it after you canceled it? How did you cancel it, and how would others cancel it? Illusions are like math formulas; if you figure out how one part works, it applies to everything else, too._-_

_._

_/Well…_

_Because it was a Real Illusion, right?_

_And it was a Real Illusion because I used the Construction property of my Soft Mist Flames. _

_Hard Mist Flames are denser and more like… leaden fire, all heavy and better suited for use in it's purest Flame form, typically thrown in combat._

_Real Illusions are illusions that can affect all five senses, because they can physically harm someone instead of just tricking their brain into believing their hurt and feeling the pain through triggered pain neurons. _

_An illusion of a dagger stabbing someone would hurt them, and they might even believe that it pierced skin and drew blood. Since they believe that, then their mind and body will react accordingly by splitting open it's own skin and drawing blood, reacting to imagined stimuli. However, if it struck an object that is not capable of thought, or advanced instincts and self-awareness, then it wouldn't actually harm it at all. It wouldn't even __**appear**__ to harm it, unless the illusionist had prepared beforehand and also cast an illusion that made the object __**look**__ hurt._

_A Real Illusion of a dagger stabbing someone would be the same as an actual dagger, meaning that it would immediately pierce skin and draw blood, no belief required. The stimuli is actually there; it isn't imagined. And if it struck an object not capable of thought and advanced instinct and self-awareness, it would still harm it just like an actual dagger, because the Real Illusion of the dagger is basically Mist Flames molded into the appearance of a dagger, so the Flames would inflict the harm according to what the illusionist envisioned would happen. Which would mean that if an illusionist believed that a dagger shredded things, then the Real Illusions they cast of a dagger would shred things, because the Flames are acting based on what their user knows./_

_._

_-_Yes, you're on the right track, Summoner. 'Reality resides in one's mind'. But consider this: if Real Illusions are illusions formed out of using your Mist Flames' Construction property, then how are regular illusions formed?_-_

_/I… don't really know./_

_-_How did you cast regular illusions then?_-_

_/it just kinda __**came**__. Instinctively. I imagined it, willed it to be there, and the illusion would appear./_

Fran cut off her thoughts and concentrated. Then she cast a simple illusion in slow motion (just an illusion to make the wall look green instead of gray) and really **looked** and **felt **how she cast it.

_/Oh… wait, but then.../_

Next, she cast a Real Illusion of a hammer striking the wall in slow motion, and did the same for that.

_/So… illusions that affect the mind are a mixture of .1% Hard Mist Flames, the 'physical' or 'materialization' part, and 99.9% Soft Mist Flames, the 'Construction' or 'illustration' part. The .1% seems instinctive, so much that an illusionist who never learned the theory and never paid critical attention at the casting process would probably miss it altogether._

_Real Illusions that affect the mind and body are a mixture of 50% Hard Mist Flames and 50% Soft Mist Flames, very close to the natural balance inside an illusionist's body of 40/60. _

_Hold on…/_

.

"Spit a fireball," she demanded.

Vi complied placidly, drawing back one antenna. A purple-ish glow enveloped it, overwhelming the gray-ish glow, and encasing the antennae in a small sphere of energy.

Shooting forward in a blur, the antenna 'slingshot' the energy sphere into the air in front of it. As soon as the sphere left the antennae, it recovered its actual appearance as a steadily burning orb of flames. The flames making up her wings grew just a tiny bit smaller.

The orb rocketed for a few inches, before abruptly stopping and bobbing gently in place, just like the rest of Vi's fireballs ended up.

Fran cupped her hands around the orb and drew it closer, before closing her eyes and **concentrating**, **looking**, **feeling**,** sensing**.

Her eyes opened back up and she let the orb float back to where it was. Vi silently dispersed it, and the flames making up her wings grew just a tiny bit bigger.

_/Your fireballs are at a natural 50/50 make-up of Flames. Which means that they have the potential to be Real Illusions. But they aren't. They're still Flames in their purest, original form: fire._

_Hmm…_

_Could you try and spit more fireballs, and this time, will them to become something?/_

Vi obeyed and spewed forth four fireballs at once; one from each antenna, one from her mouth, and one from her uncurled tongue.

The fireballs reached the 'bobbing' stage, and then morphed fluidly into four butterflies.

Each butterfly was small, their wingspans maybe only two inches. The paled grayed-out wings themselves were translucent but vaguely opaque, like oiled paper. Delicate veins threaded themselves across the wings, adding to the fragile appearance. Dark brown eyes, an identical copy of Vi's, were on each of their 'heads'. They retained the 'spines' on the tail, from the 'original' (Vi).

_._

_-_They appear to be the only appearance I can mold my fireballs into, Summoner. Their reserves are self-sufficient, running off of the 'chunk' of my own Flames that went into the fireballs. It appears that they are connected to me, however; I can 'feed' them more of my Flames to keep them 'alive', I can see and hear what they do, and I control them, though they do retain some measure of adaptation instincts. Rather, I am the 'hive mind', who can give orders individually or altogether, and they are the 'drones' who will do the best that they can to fulfill that objective. If I don't 'feed' them Flames, they will dispel by themselves in an hour. They cannot cast illusions themselves._-_

_/How do you know all of this __**now**__ but not __**before**__?/ _Fran thought with a flare of irritation.

Another wing-shrug.

_-_I was programmed like this. Programming done by half-mad scientists do not often make sense. The fine line between madness and genius is merely one dreamed by humankind. As such, I do not know things until they are 'unlocked' by the Summoner. Think of me as a video game level, if you wish._-_

_/Well, is it possible for you to make the fireballs bigger? Can you change the appearance of the drones?/_

_-_No, this is the maximum size. I can, however, condense all four fireballs into one one they've reached 'bobbing'. Drones can condense with each other, too. 

They have to reach 'bobbing' in order for me to morph them. And if you wish for a faster firing speed, I can produce eight or sixteen. No in betweens. 

Eight would mean each 'chunk' would last 30 minutes, and sixteen 'chunks' are 15 minutes each. I cannot change the appearance of the drones any more than I have done so so far. I do believe that I can force them to revert back to fireball form, but then I'll lose the connection with them._-_

_/Test it./_

The butterfly on the far left drifted a couple of meters away, and fluidly morphed back into a fireball.

For about a split second.

And then it exploded into an explosion of Mist Flames.

Fran could feel the heat from the flames, and was internally grateful that Vi had ordered the drone to drift away before testing it, although she knew in theory that the Flames wouldn't have hurt her.

But they could be used to hurt others...

Hmm...

Now there's an idea.

Any closer, and anyone else would've been singed, or even scorched badly if it drifted even closer.

Mist Flames are still **flames**, after all, and flames are **fire**.

Which can **burn**, and **torch**, and **incinerate**

No matter if it's property was Construction or not, it can still **destroy**.

_._

_/Okay, so they turn into bombs if they switch back. _

_That… could be very, very useful._

_And if you see and hear everything that the drones do…_

_Can you connect it to me?/_

A moment later, Fran doubled over and clutched at her hat, gasping and her vision swimming.

"Give me some **warning** next time, Vi," she muttered through clenched teeth.

And then she winced again, because not only was she hearing the sound of her voice amplified three times (four if you count Vi), she was also somehow **seeing** herself three (four) times.

_/How can you handle it?/_

_-_I'm programmed to compartmentalize it. It might help you if you delve into your mindscape._-_

So she did.

_._

Her mindscape had changed.

The sunny little cafe had changed into a brightly lit classic security room.

Fran was seated in a swively black chair, staring at a wall full of monitors.

Well, four monitors, to be exact.

The wall was a giant ceiling-to-floor digital screen, split into equal fourths. A small square was in the top-right corner of each monitor, and contained a picture of the butterfly whose 'eyes' and 'ears' she was using.

Three of the ID squares had identical pictures of a drone, and the fourth one had a picture of Vi.

Speaking of Vi…

_-_Right now, the sound is muted. You are seeing what the drones and I see as if through a camera. To block out a screen you don't need, like mine, since I'm always near you, just swipe it and it'll turn black. To access sound, tap the screen. Tap again to cancel sound. To zoom, tap twice. Replays and old 'films' will probably materialize later on in your mindscape. And now that you've accessed the 'hive' in your mindscape, it should no longer appear to you outside, so your senses will no longer feel overwhelmed,- Vi informed her, standing behind her right shoulder and smiling blankly.-

The effect was quite startling, but Fran covered up her surprise and tested out the Farfalla's instructions.

"It all seems to be in order."

She exited her mindscape.

_._

Fran stretched slightly.

_/I have a meeting with Byakuran soon, so I'll have to test out the spines and muse over dispelling theory next time. For now, send the drones to observe the base; one for each Spell. I'll make more later, when I can test my limits./_

She paused and carefully layered illusions for invisibility over them.

The drones faded away from sight.

_/Oh, good, so illusions can still be used __**on**__ them. Vi, keep feeding them Flames until I tell you to disperse them, and alert me of anything I would consider significant. When you're low on Flames, draw from me, okay?/_

_-_Yes, Summoner, understood._-_

The tealette dispelled the illusionary perch, and Vi fluttered to her hair, hiding her thin body under the strands, and illusioning her flame-wings. Another illusion was cast, designed to make the Box Animal's body look like a clip, courtesy of Fran.

Fran didn't see the drones moving, of course, but she trusted that the Farfalla had sent them out.

A few more seconds later, and she was on her way to Byakuran's office, with two long violet-indigo feathers intertwined in her hair.

(Ever since they'd figured out that Vi could illusion her wings two ¾ months ago, the Millefiore members had gotten used to seeing her with a hair clip on, usually of feathers or butterfly wings. Compared to a mushroom-hat, cloak, and scepter, it wasn't exactly odd.)

.

Maybe it was that lasting contentedness that has Fran a little more amiable today.

A little more trusting.

A little more considering.

(And you know what they say: it's the little bits that count.)

Whatever it is, there has to be _something_.

Why else would she accept...?

.

"The last Mare Ring," Fran announced, placing the object on his desk with a lot more care than she'd shown the other rings.

Byakuran picked it up and rolled it around his hand, staring intently down at it.

"Wait," he called out.

Her footsteps petered off, and teal eyes turned to look curiously back at him.

"What?"

"You know that Kikyo, Bluebell, Zakuro, and Daisy are already in the Wreaths' base, right?"

A nod. "How could I not? I went with you to recruit all of them, and I've played cards with them all before to know they aren't Real Illusions, if that's what you mean. Plus, Zakuro eats too much for an illusion."

"So you'd say that you know them pretty well, and get along with them?"

"I guess so? I mean, they all call me Fran-sama just like they call you Lord and -sama, with the exception of Bluebell who insists on calling me Fran-nee. Why?"

"Well~, getting Torikabuto at this stage seems pretty useless, then, and not just because he's only a cursed mask right now. I already have a much more powerful Mist-user, who is familiar with the usage of a Mare Ring, and has an established comradeship with my other Funeral Wreaths."

"You can't-" Draw back, brow furrowing.

"Oh, yes, I can~! Francy-chan, how'd you like to keep your Mare Ring?" Lean forward, smile widening.

"The plan for making sure that no one knows who your Funeral Wreaths are?" Deflect, avoid, stalling.

"I can still keep that up, of course. Send out a decoy, and all that jazz. No one will suspect a person hiding in plain sight, and our constant arguments would handily convince anyone who does that you couldn't possibly tolerate being a subordinate." Prompt, ready, charming.

"I **don't** tolerate being a subordinate." Frown, testy, hesitating.

(She's always been the subordinate, ever since Day 1, always always always, just never admitted it, refused to admit it, because admitting is conceding and that's facing facts facing reality facing **truths** she doesn't want to accept.

One of those truths is that a fledgling, broken-winged chickadee of a Sky Flame could never begin to compare with a blazing, proudly soaring phoenix of a Sky Flame.

Only inch closer, instinctive, attempt to feed off the excess fire, leech out some extra energy, stroke and stoke and coax the little chickadee to grow and **stretch** just a tiny bit more.

Another of those truths is that an unbound Mist in the presence of a Sky cannot resist the allure of Sky Attraction, be it one a conscious or subconscious level, much less an unbound Mist in the presence of a Sky lacking a Mist Guardian, who will automatically 'radiate' Sky Resonation.

Sky Resonation is the first step to Sky Harmonization, checking if the wave lengths of unbound Elements around the Sky match up into above the minimum compatibility level.

Especially strong unbound Elements 'call out' loudly to Skies seeking an Element, in a contrast to bound Elements 'repelling' other Skies, making them more desirous on an internal, primal level, as strong allies improve life expectancy.

Especially strong Skies can force an initial Resonation, which, although not a Harmonization, compels the unbound Element to be generally more agreeable towards the Sky, among various other things. A full Harmonization must be fostered over an extended period of time.

Wave lengths can change, too, as the person develops and undergoes mental changes of their own, and the higher the compatibility of the waves lengths are, the faster and more powerful a Harmonization is.

[In rare cases, strong enough Elements who seek to Harmonize with a specific Sky can reverse-Resonate. If the Sky is too weak, only Resonation can be reached, but even Resonation will strengthen the Flames of both.]

And a last, particularly important truth, is that the moment Byakuran walked into his office to discuss the upcoming Millefiore merger treaty and felt the 'call' of an especially strong unbound Mist, he forced an initial Resonation, something even he didn't discover until about a week later, when performing Flame-control exercises.

The moment he **did** discover it, he began to plan.

A plan that involved the Mist Mare Ring, Fran, and not-yet-contacted Torikabuto.

/_Fran has stronger pure Mist Flames, and has worked with the Mare Ring for longer..._/

Byakuran is still a genius, and genius' plans are often subtle.

Until they aren't.)

"Ah, no worries, Francy-chan, your position won't change at all. You'll just gain 100 A-ranked subordinates and some more soldiers to train." Assure, placate, arms spread wide in a gesture of welcome.

"And where would I find the time to do **that**?" Scoff, excuse, arms crossed close in a gesture of defense.

"Stop resisting and start delegating paperwork, of course~!" Humor, joke, lighten the mood.

"...I will look back on this with regret, most likely, but I'm feeling impulsive. Alright, deal." Sway, resist, reluctantly give in.

Inevitability.

Half-bound Mist and the baiting Sky, chickadees losing ground to phoenixes.

"Deal?" Confirm, excite, eyes gleam in triumph in victory in a piece of the plan clicking **just right**.

Slim fingers, pale fingers, buzzing with power and potential, swoop down, scoop up, silver shines slipping off the smooth ring.

Official words, recognized agreement, the ring buzzes faster and warmer and power from it's Sky.

"I shall be your Mist Funeral Wreath."

Last tendrils of a Harmonization entangle, readied from the start, nurtured delicately over months, and a Sky sighs, satisfied.

The Mist never notices, dismissing the feeble flopping and fending of her Sky Flame wisps as a reaction to re-greeting the Mare Ring, not as a natural reaction to battling another Sky's Harmonization.

After a minute or so, the chickadee folds, bowing to the phoenix.

Inevitability.

Full-bound Mist and the bonded Sky, phoenixes crowing over defeated chickadees.

* * *

_**.**_

_**.**_

.

* * *

**Omake **

**(drama-llama and abominations):**

It is a nice enough spring morning in the Millefiore Italy Base.

A certain white-haired teen and a tealette teen are breakfasting together amicably enough on the Balcony; it is early enough that the Dining Hall is nearly void of diners, and that none of the captains are eating on the Balcony with the Bosses.

They are having their usual breakfasts:

A bowl of warm milk with marshmallows and a s'mores-flavored muffin for Byakuran to stuff into his mouth.

And a plate of browned multi-grain organic toast with warmed guava preserves and a mug of hot chai tea with guava-flavored tapioca bubbles for Fran to daintily pick at.

Absorbed in the conversation/debate/argument that the two are having about whether or not delegating paperwork is morally responsible (not that either of them really care about morals at all, but they needed a point to argue other than 'it's not fair' and 'who cares? i'm the boss, aren't i?', so therefore the rather amoral villains are now arguing about morals), Byakuran barely notices what he is steadily shoveling into his mouth, only that it tastes a bit stranger than his usual tooth-rottingly saccharine sweet meal...

...until Fran pauses in her rebuttal to take a sip of her throat-boiling beverage, and he happens to glance idly down at his silverware spoon, polished and marked with a stylized 'M' for 'Millefiore' (and subsequently at his bowl).

Then he flips out (or at least flips over his spoon) and gasps.

Dramatically.

With a hand pressed flat against his chest for extra added theatrical effect.

(Fun Fact: When taking online college courses with Sho-chan at age 13, because genii are genii, Byakuran decided to take a few courses in 'Theater' and 'Shakespearian Writing' for the supposedly easy credits.

And he fell in love with them.

There was a week when he refused to speak in anything other than rhyming couplets and quotes, hence causing Sho-chan to have a nervous breakdown, which only got worse when Byakuran then decided that it was his duty as his best friend to 'nurse poor Sho-chan back to full bloom, lest he suffer and ache 'til his lonely doom', and refused to take off the Shakespearian Healer's Cosplay he had donned.

Many a feverish nightmare were born from those dark, dark days.

Thankfully for the cracked remnants of Sho-chan's sanity, Byakuran graciously reverted back to his former self on Sho-chan's 13 1/2 birthday, which he insisted on celebrating lavishly, and even apologized in a very Byakuran-esque way by not actually saying an apology, and instead convincing [bribing and threatening with a smile] Sho-chan's favorite band [Blood + Peppers] to play in person at the party.

He also gifted Sho-chan with a truly grossly expensive guitar, the complete line of Blood + Peppers merchandise, and had the band members meet Sho-chan in person after their show.

Sho-chan had smiled pleasantly at Byakuran the next day, and said, "I admit, I sometimes really hate you, but you are officially loved more than you are hated."

Then he smashed the leftover birthday cake into his face, hugged and thanked him, and all was well again.

Ah, Byakuran's such a good friend to his Sho-chan~!

[#Epic#10051#Bromance])

"_What_ is this _travesty!?_"

Fran spares his meal a split-second glance before returning to her drink, finding nothing out of place (like poison).

(Although, if Byakuran's meal_ had _been poisoned, she _probably_ will have reacted the same way, and perhaps, if she is in a _particularly _saintly mood, go alert a Gray Spell paramedic...

After her breakfast is finished and she has taken her morning walk, of course.

Maybe before his theoretical corpse starts to theoretically decompose.

Maybe.)

"It's your breakfast. What, are you blind now, Byakuran? I thought you prided yourself on seeing everything; I wonder how you will do that now?"

A pause.

She corrects herself, "No, wait, I _don't_ wonder how you will do that now, because that implies I somehow care how you do that in the first place."

Byakuran puts on a severely offended-beyond-belief expression, and points accusingly at his bowl, now throwing his head back in order to invoke that extra measure of theatricality.

"That- that- that- that _thing_ is _not_ my beautiful darling precious scrumdiddlyumptious breakfast! I always order marshmallows in my milk!"

(In another universe, Byakuran is not as distracted by his marshmallow-lacking milk, and duly comments about how 'Francy-chan's tsundere nature is irrepressible, hmm~?', complete with the teasing wink and suggestive tone.

In that same universe, 'Francy-chan' then proceeds to punch him.

Failing miserably, of course, as Byakuran's superior combat training and physical prowess allows him to smoothly dodge the punch.

Irritated, 'Francy-chan' settles for flicking illusionary marshmallows at him, thus reminding him of his sadly marshmallow-lacking milk, and they get back on track.)

With a sigh, Fran reluctantly tears her (blank) gaze away from her tea and turns instead to examine what has her counterpart all up in a fuss about.

"Those _are_ marshmallows in your milk."

He appears righteously indignant, and crosses his arms in a self-justified huff.

"No, those _aren't!_ Those are_ Lucky Charms_."

She raises an eyebrow at the horrified tone of his voice when the words 'Lucky Charms' are mentioned in a hushed whisper.

/_I probably **really** shouldn't ask, but..._

_But, damnit, whatever. I'm going to end up knowing, anyway, since he'll inevitably end up whining about it to me later, and better now than when I'm trying to take a nice relaxing bath, and he's leaned up against my bathroom door complaining because **some people just don't understand the wonderful concepts of 'personal space' and 'privacy'**._

**_Ugh_**_._

**_Why is this my life_**_._

_Like, **seriously**._

**_Argh_**_._

_And now I'm depressed._

_**Fan**-fucking-**tastic**._/

"So? The kitchen probably ran out of marshmallows or something. Or maybe some newbie on kitchen rotation thought that you meant cereal marshmallows. Understandable mistakes."

He hisses like a sodden cat who has suddenly been betrayed by his bosom ol' bud, and rears back, eyeing the innocently floating multicolored blobs with the suspicion that you would usually see when talking to a government conspiracy theorist..

"_Dehydrated_ marshmallows are_ not_ marshmallows _at all! _**_They are an abomination to the proud marshmallow species!_**"

His tone is dark and heavy and far too serious for someone discussing marshmallows.

On the inside, Fran kinda wants to laugh hysterically.

Or weep hysterically.

EIther's good, really.

/_No, like, really._

**_How is this my fucking life now._**

_I don't even **have** a 'fucking' life._

_... Okay, maybe I need some more time off._

_The stress is making me think incredibly OOC thoughts._/

"Sure they are. It even says so in the name," she reasons logically. "If they weren't actual marshmallows, the company making them would've gotten sued a _long_ time ago, right?"

Good, sound logic, yes.

She just forgot that Byakuran is not someone who follows good, sound logic.

Only Byakuran truly understands 'Byakuran logic'.

And maybe Shoichi, if he's drunk enough and not yet jaded in that particular universe yet.

"_They are not_."

Fran just sighs again and does her one-shouldered shruggy-thingy, reaching up to pat down her poofy hat, letting out a whoosh of displaced air.

"Whatever. If you really can't stand eating the Lucky Charms, just dump it in the compost and order another bowl."

(Yes, compost.

Because Millefiore has composting bins and recycling bins and very few garbage bins.

Because Millefiore is eco-friendly and earth-conscious like that.

Well, more like Fran is, and Gray Spell worships her so they follow whatever she says with an almost religious fervor, and Byakuran goes along with it because he finds it endearing, and White Spell worships _him_ so they follow whatever _he_ says with an almost religious and fervor, and Black Spell kinda awkwardly shuffles into place because it's an actual rule and everything.

Same difference.)

When she sees how homicidal he still looks, she adds with an indulgent roll of the eyes, "And if you aren't satisfied with that, then go and demote the person who prepared your breakfast. Just don't kill them or fire them; it's inefficient, and produces _a lot_ of paperwork that will inevitably end up being _my_ job to do, seeing as _you_ never do any."

/_Paperwork-neglecting **asshole**._

_C'mon, Fran, think happy thoughts, think happy thoughts, go to your happy place._

_We don't need Marie-Anne or Gamma hustling you off to therapy again._

_That's right, think of the guava and the nice long baths and that new bistro in Rome that you wanted to try out tomorrow..._/

* * *

**Omake **

**(non-canon allergies and fran cursing):**

"_What!?_"

A horrified cry can be heard throughout the Millefiore Italy Base.

(Everyone ignores it once they realize that it comes from the direction of the two Bosses eating lunch on the Balcony.

Loud noises are basically expected them interacting.

[There is very good money on them secretly hooking up behind everyone's backs, undeterred by their young ages and caustic animosity on Fran's side.

The smart money, however, is on both of them slowly falling into friendship and then 'like' and then love, in a dramatic lovestory worthy of the dramatic Mafia history of love stories that may or may not involve copious amounts of roses and sunsets and bullets and alcohol.

Okay, the not-so-smart money, that is.])

Fran arches a single perfect teal eyebrow at the antics of her counterpart, and lazily stirs her steaming soup.

"All I said was that I don't like marshmallows," she points out flatly.

Byakuran still looks horrified.

No, positively _scandalized_.

"How can you _not like __**marshmallows!?**_"

She shrugs and savors a spoonful of her soup.

"I don't know. I've never had a marshmallow before."

"We have to rectify that _immediately, _then!"

Suddenly apprehensive and alert, Fran draws back from the table and eyes him with all the wariness that that statement deserves.

Which is a lot of wariness, since, y'know, it's _Byakuran_ saying it.

A _determined_ Byakuran.

A determined Byakuran talking about something concerning _marshmallows_.

Hells have been raised and Heavens have been razed when Byakurans have had reason to fear that their squishy sticky gooey puffballs will be taken away from their greedy little grasps.

So yes, her wariness is very much justified.

And no, that's not simply Fran trying to justify her wariness to herself.

"... What are you planning?"

Smiling sunnily, the white-haired teen whistles innocently. "Noth-"

He lunges and shoves a fluffy white sugary confection (a.k.a. a marshmallow) into her mouth. "-ing!"

Fran chokes.

Gags.

Sputters.

_Splutters._

Attempts, fruitlessly, to retch, which she cannot since _someone is holding her fucking **mouth** shut that fucking asshole-!_

"_Wuthah'llahyu-!_"

And swallows, with much difficulty.

Then promptly starts dry heaving and turning paler than she already is.

The glare she aims at Byakuran could've incinerated _ice_ to _ashes._

She kicks him soundly in his asshole-ish shins, taking vindictive pleasure out of his pained yelp and his hand's immediate retreat from her face.

"_You._ _Fucking._ _Idiota_," Fran snarls hoarsely, wheezing and clutching at her throat from constricting airways and a lack of breath.

"_I'm __**allergic**__ to marshmallows, you- you- you **connard-!**"_

And then she topples out of her chair in a dead faint.

Byakuran winces.

That looked like it hurt.

Also, if Fran actually lost her linguistic control enough to slip into French by accident...

Wow, she must be pretty mad at him.

/_Um, okay, okay, I can fix this._

_I think._

_I think I can fix this, I mean._

_So, uh..._/

He quickly calls for someone to bring her to the Infirmary, as he chuckles rather nervously.

"Hopefully she'll have calmed down a bit by the time she wakes up…"

.

Judging by the animalistic growl that comes from her the next time they met, Fran has _not_ calmed down a bit.

Or at all, really.

Indeed, she had not forgotten _any_ of it.

The former Gesso Boss wisely chose to turn tail and _runforhisfreakinglife_.

Choosing which battles are worth fighting is winning half the war, right?

Yeah.

Okay.

That's the excuse he's sticking to.

* * *

_**#**_

_**#**_

_**#**_

_**Sorry, it's a short-ish chapter today. Also, a reminder that some omakes will be Replacement!canon-compliant, and some may not strictly be. The omake with the cursing above actually contradict an extra scene that's in Chapter... 29, I think, or 28. Omakes are meant to be a bit cracky and overall lighthearted fun, though, and extra scenes are just extras, while background info is in the name. Deleted scenes are pure crack. It's your choice if you choose to think of them as part of the story or not.**_

_**#**_

**_#_**

**_~Please Review~_**

**_~I love reviews like Squalo loves shouting 'VOOOOOIIII!'~_**

**_(Okay, well, maybe he doesn't really love shouting it, since that usually means that he's pissed off, but you get the idea. Hopefully.)_**


	12. Assassination

**Summary:**

_Fran's not dumb; she can tell she's only a replacement. She's Yuni's elder sister, but it was official that Yuni would be Boss after Aria died; it's clear everyone liked her kind, gracious and cheery attitude over Fran's indifferent, cold and cynical one. Yuni was the trusting, benevolent "Aria's daughter". Fran was the suspicious, bitter "spitting image of Aria's husband". She's even born with the "wrong" Flame; a strong primary Mist and a weak secondary Sky. But now that Yuni's vanished, Fran's the (grudging) Giglio Nero Boss, and will be the one meeting with Gesso. She's got a bad feeling about their Boss, though; Byakuran's intrigued by a Fran who differs from her parallel selves. Meanwhile, Yuni being gone has a greater significance than any of them realize. TYL!Fran, Fem!Fran, Very AU._

**Disclaimer:**

_KHR! rights go to Akira Amano._

_The cover picture is not mine. It belonged to an insanely talented deviantart artist who I have no way of contacting, so please don't sue me._

* * *

**Reviews:**

_Thank you, '__**turtlehoffmann2251**__', for your review. I like Vi, too~! She was modeled after the emotionlessly disturbing Sai from Naruto, the multiple socially-awkward and literally-interpreting androids and AIs scattered across the media, and Siri from Apple. Basically, your friendly neighborhood digital-butterfly-personal assistant. Don't order one at home, kids. ;]_

_Thank you, '__**ADDBaby**__' for your review. Slightly coincidental, actually; I have my math midterms today and tomorrow. WIsh me luck! :[_

_Thank you, '__**vini8**__', for your review. It's always nice to see a new follower/favoriter/reviewer. (Is it discrimination if I say that it's nicer to see a new reviewer?) I hope you enjoy the rest of it, then! ;]_

* * *

**Quotes:**

"_This is just a… practice run for the bigger Famiglias, and a subtle warning to any of them who are observant enough to tell that the tides are changing.~" - Byakuran_

"_I'd say good luck, but you're all Funeral Wreaths: you don't need luck." - Byakuran _

"_So what are we waiting for? Dawdling is inefficient. Let's go kill people." - Fran_

_/Wait, who is this again?/ - Fran_

'_The pile of blood and guts and flesh you are grasping in your numb fingers was formerly known as Jose Franco del Maria, the corrupted ambassador of Sicily who was taking bribes from many Famiglias to ignore or even help their drugs smuggling.' There was a pause. 'Summoner.' - Vi_

_/Oh, well okay then./ - Fran_

_'Finally, that's over. So inefficient, though. Next time, I'll just freeze them with an immobility illusion and slit their throats.' - Fran_

_/Vi, that was a rhetorical question./ - Fran_

'_I will add that to my figurative-language filtering and identification software, Summoner.' - Vi_

'_Understood, Summoner. Processing request… connection established. Amount determined. Beginning transfusion… 1% complete, 2% complete, 3% complete…' - Vi_

"_Dress nice, won't you~?" - Byakuran_

"_Of course, Byakuran. After all, I'm sure that you'll be dressing to kill." - Fran_

* * *

And truth be told (and Fran was always brutally honest), nothing really _did_ change.

Not drastically, anyhow; more of a gradual shift.

After becoming the Mist Funeral Wreath, the other Wreaths were slightly surprised, but persisted in treating her no different from before.

Which meant that she still played cards with them, drank tea with Kikyo, reprimanded Zakuro for picking fights with Bluebell, reminded Bluebell to stop swimming naked, and stitched up Daisy's rabbit.

(Everyone avoided the topic of Ghost, their Lightning Funeral Wreath.

If the fact that he was in _Vendicare_ wasn't enough, there was also the undeniable proof that he was freaking scary and truly didn't care if they lived or died by his hand.

_That_ was absolute apathy perfected, not the way that Fran usually blanked her face.)

It was peaceful.

(Plus irritatingly 'domestic', as Byakuran liked to say.)

She started delegating most of her paperwork, freeing up quite a lot of time.

All that free time went into 20% training her Wreath A-ranks, 20% training her Gray Spell members, 15% taking care of her duties as one of the Millefiore Bosses, 10% personal Box Animal training, 7% bo staff training, 10% Flame training, 9% 'socializing' with (a.k.a. keeping an eye on) Byakuran and various subordinates, and 9% actual relaxation time.

Demanding and taxing?

Naturally.

But she's carried through with it for three years so far, making it 3 ½ years since the Millefiore was formed.

Of course, just training and recruiting and churning out new technological marvels from the Millefiore labs for 3 ½ years meant that it was 3 ½ years of peace.

_Something_ was bound to happen.

To make a statement about their strength, to display their Famiglias' power, to represent that the Millefiore were neither weak nor cowards.

To show that they were willing to _fight_ and _crush_ and _glory in the carnage_.

And judging by the fact that the Funeral Wreaths were just all summoned to the Wreath base for their first ever ordered gathering, that 'something' was going to happen a lot sooner than later.

/Good,/ Fran thought as she took her designated 'Mist Funeral Wreath' seat at the Wreath base's meeting table.

She boredly examined her reflection from the mirror on the wall, adjusting her hat. /If we're going to collect the Tri-Ni-Set, we may as well do it properly./

* * *

Byakuran settled comfortably in his seat at the head of the table, eating a marshmallow and nestling the side of his face on the flat of his palm.

He smiled down at his Funeral Wreaths, and waggled his fingers in a lazy wave. "Hello, my Wreaths~!"

"We are honored with your presence, Lord Byakuran." Kikyo, his ever-faithful Cloud, was the first to respond, with a calm nod and the standard Millefiore salute.

Zakuro was next, with a respectful dip of the head and the salute. "Good morning, Byakuran-sama."

With an eager smile on her face and energetically bouncing on her chair, Bluebell piped up third, after darkly glowering at the red-head for some earlier offence against her. "Byakuran-nii! Byakuran-nii!"

Daisy shivered and clutched his stuffed plushie a little tighter, darting a quick glance nervously at the Sky Mare Ring user. "H-h-hello, B-byakuran-sama…"

Fran was as impassive as ever, her hands folded limply on top of the table. "Hey."

He nearly pouted at the tealette's unfriendliness ("Mou, still so cold~, Francy-chan!"), but instead continued on through a mouthful of chewy sugary goodness.

"So, I've assembled you all here today to tell you that: you're getting your first missions!~" Byakuran beamed brightly and clapped. "Now isn't that exciting?~"

"If you say it is, then it must be so, Lord Byakuran," Kikyo replied dutifully.

The rest of the Wreaths' replies were more… off-topic.

"Yay~! I finally get to show off for you, Byakuran-nii!" Bluebell cheered.

"Pfft, as if you have anything to show off, idjit." Zakuro snorted disdainfully.

"Why you…!" Rolling up the imaginary sleeves of her short-sleeve, her blue eyes narrowed menacingly at the red-head, who appeared wholly unaffected.

"Zakuro, Bluebell…" Fran trailed off meaningfully, glancing briefly over at them. "You know what I say about your fights."

"-Sigh.- That they're an inefficient usage of our time, talent, and effort," the duo chorused in unison.

She looked sharply at them and her lips twitched downwards. "Are you two rolling your eyes at me?"

Before they could answer, the tealette whacked them both in the head with her scepter.

Daisy flinched, fearful, and clutched his stuffed plushie even tighter, like a lifeline of sanity.

(Not that anyone ever said he was entirely [or at all, in any way whatsoever] sane.)

Byakuran's smile dimmed and his eyes flashed violet. A flare of Sky Flames drew their attention again.

Smiling angelically, his eyes returned to their original lavender.

"I'll take that as a yes, then!~ Francy-chan, you and Kikyo-kun will be doing a series of high-level assassinations, all paid-for hits, since you two are the stealthiest. I expect for your identities to be concealed and to be visibly traced back to the Millefiore; that'll establish something of a reputation for us. And don't worry about your Gray Spell; you should be back in three days, tops, so either appoint a stand-in or cast a Real illusion clone~."

Two files, in identical matte black, were carelessly tossed onto the table. The named Wreaths picked them up. Kikyo's pleasant expression didn't change, and though Fran wanted to say something snide about having to complete fifteen assassinations (Kikyo got fifteen, too, but they were going to solo them) in three days, she didn't.

"Bluebell-chan, Zakuro-kun, and Daisy-kun will be on demolition assignments.~ Leave no witnesses, and make sure it can't be traced back to us. The Millefiore can't have too much scrutiny on us. Not yet, anyway. So you'll each be getting the same list of small-fry Famiglias to wipe out. Team up or solo, it doesn't matter. This is just a… _practice run_ for the bigger Famiglias, and a subtle warning to any of them who are observant enough to tell that the tides are changing.~"

Byakuran similarly tossed three files in matte red to them, and then paused to wink at his Sun Wreath.

"Oh, and Daisy-kun~? Go _wild_."

The green-haired boy didn't verbally reply, but his eyes widened, lost their fright, and quickly gained the dark glint of bloodlust as he read through his file.

"Well~ that's it for me. I'll be staying at base, of course, to keep up appearances.~ The Millefiore can't be missing _both_ Bosses.~ You're dismissed."

He stood up from his seat and stretched, yawning, before sauntering through the doorway.

Then he popped his head back in, and winked at all of them. "I'd say good luck, but you're all Funeral Wreaths: you don't _need_ luck. Bye~, and I'll be expecting fantastic reports!~"

Fran also got up from her chair, one hand gripping her scepter, and the other hand holding the mission file.

She sent off a Real illusion clone (to alert her stand-in that she'll be taking a few days off), and glanced around at the still seated Wreaths.

"So what are we waiting for? Dawdling is inefficient. Let's go kill people."

* * *

It was… boring.

Honestly?

She expected much, much more security for…

/Wait, who is this again?/

-The pile of blood and guts and flesh you are grasping in your numb fingers was formerly known as Jose Franco del Maria, the corrupted ambassador of Sicily who was taking bribes from many Famiglias to ignore or even help their drugs smuggling.-

There was a pause.

-Summoner.-

/Oh, well okay then./ Fran glanced down dispassionately at the so-called 'pile of blood and guts and flesh', and dropped her hold.

With a muffled squelch, the mauled remains of the middle-aged man's corpse slid sickeningly onto the floorboards, trailing behind a darkened smear of blood.

Slipping off the elbow-length latex gloves that she'd been wearing to avoid DNA evidence, the tealette serenely reached up to adjust her hat, unbothered by the gory scene around her.

As an afterthought, she bent down and channeled a thin, tightly controlled spike of Mist Flames around her right index finger, straightening back up after she'd burned a detailed rendition of the Millefiore crest onto the nearest bare patch of skin.

Then she turned and strolled casually out of the window, completely unmarred by bloodstains, and still under an invisibility illusion.

(Yes, _out of the window_. As in, _out of the window in the fifth floor of J. del Maria's highly guarded private mansion_. How do you think she got in? Don't worry, Fran didn't go splat on the concrete sidewalk; she had a Real illusion of an equally invisible flying carpet ready to carry her back to base, of course.

Hey, don't judge her.

_Everyone's_ wanted a flying carpet _at least __**once**_ since seeing 'Aladdin'.

...Right?)

/Finally, _that's_ over. So inefficient, though. Next time, I'll just freeze them with an immobility illusion and slit their throats. Trapping them in an illusionary labyrinth of their greatest fears takes _way_ too long, and could prove to be quite messy. I mean, who knew that what Jose feared the most was being ripped apart by a pack of starving wolves?/

-He was listed as having a phobia of canines ever since age 5, when he was bitten by a rabid poodle dog, Summoner.-

Fran sighed and ran a hand through her hair, lightly brushing against Vi's disguised Flame-wings (she'd opted for feathers, again).

/Vi, that was a rhetorical question. Oh, wait, are you running low on Flames again?/

-I will add that to my figurative-language filtering and identification software, Summoner. I have enough Flames left to last an estimated thirty minutes before reaching the 'running low' mark of fifteen minutes left, Summoner.-

The tealette furrowed her brow slightly.

/How long until we reach base?/

-At this speed, Summoner, I calculate that we will reach the Millefiore Italy Base in an hour and counting.-

Pushing some more of her rapidly dwindling Flames reserves into the Real illusion, she closed her eyes and felt the carpet quicken its pace.

/And now?/

-45 minutes and counting, Summoner.-

/I can't spare much more Flames, though. I'm nearly at the fainting mark of ⅕ of my capacity. Ah, damnit, even after 3 more years of training I only managed to push back the mark 5%. I mean, on the upside, my capacity increased, but cramming all of these assassinations in three days is _really_ straining it. Okay, okay, I can do this. Let me think… I guess there's no other way. Cut off your Flame feed to all of the drones. Can they last until we get back?/

Over the years, Fran and Vi had added more and more 'drones' to their surveillance network. 'Feeding' drones when they were more than three miles away, however, was nearly double as taxing, so they limited their 'constant drones' to inside the main base. 'Temporary drones' were usually sent out on Byakuran's request to scout other Famiglias and gather information.

The 'feathers' 'clipped' to her hair stirred minutely.

-Flame feed terminated. My reserves will now run out in an hour and a half, Summoner. The drones will dispel in T-minus ten minutes.-

/Then dispel all of them _now_, and that should bulk up your reserves a little more./

-...Drones unplugged. My reserves can last two and ¾ hours now, Summoner. Would you appreciate an infusion of Mist Flames to 'bulk up your reserves'?-

/Give me an hour of yours; that should be enough to make sure I'll make it safely into base, and last me until I can get some of my subordinates to transfer more Flames to you, which you can then transfer to me, and so on./

-Understood, Summoner. Processing request… connection established. Amount determined. Beginning transfusion… 1% complete, 2% complete, 3% complete…-

Fran dozed off to the mechanical, computer-like sound of her Box Animal's voice.

* * *

"Hmm~? Oh, you're back, Francy-chan!~ Last one back, actually. Run into any trouble?~"

Teal eyes looked blankly down upon the cheerfully grinning white-haired figure behind the desk.

A matte black file and a few sheets of mission reports were dumped unceremoniously in front of him.

"Yes, actually," she answered blandly, getting a mild sense of satisfaction out of seeing Byakuran appear startled for a split second.

Fran gestured with an immaculate hand at herself.

"I'm tired, Vi's tired, and we're both nearly out of Flames. So finish the debriefing, because I need to get some of my A-ranks to transfer more Flames."

He frowned slightly, and then recovered his happy smile.

"I'll be quick, then~! Good news, good news! Apparently news of the assassinations has spread much faster than I thought.~ The Millefiore have been extended a 'cordial invite' to the Chiavarone Famiglias' Halloween ball!~"

Fran deadpanned.

"So the Millefiore has a foot in the door of the big leagues, eh? And how does that relate to me at all? You _know_ how greatly I dislike-"

"-'associating with backstabbing suck-ups and idiots who think they're all that and can meddle with Big Politics', yes, I _do_ know. But you _are_ a Millefiore Boss, so you _are_ going. Because guess what?~"

She internally rolled her eyes, but played along with a bored drawl.

"What?"

Lavender eyes lit up with an air of eager triumph.

"_The Vongola are going to be there._"

There was a silence.

"Well, now," Fran said slowly, heading towards the door. "I suppose I'd better tell Gamma and Shoichi that we'll be having a dinner party to attend... in…?"

A flash of teeth like the cat who caught the canary and successfully pinned the blame on it's archnemesis.

"In two weeks, Francy-chan, in two weeks. Dress nice, won't you~?"

A sardonic snort by way of reply.

"Of course, Byakuran. After all, I'm sure that _you'll_ be dressing to _kill_."

* * *

_**#**_

_**#**_

_**#**_

_**And here you have Fran's feelings on the bloodiness of being a Funeral Wreath, and being a Millefiore. As in, her complete **__**lack**__** of feelings on the subject. She doesn't care. So long as it's the most **__**efficient**__** way of reaching their goal. Because efficient = boring stuff gets done fast = more time for **__**interesting**__** things. And that's basically her personality in one equation. :]**_

_**On another note: Yay, Mafia parties~! This is 3 ½ years from the Millefiore creation, so Fran and Byakuran are 18 ½ now. This world's Tsuna is 17 ½.**_

_**On another, another note: What, no omake requests? :[**_

_**#**_

_**#**_

_**~Please Review!~**_

_**~I like reviews as much as Takeshi likes sushi and baseball (preferably together)!~**_


	13. Decoration

**Summary:**

_Fran's not blind, and Fran's not deaf; she can tell she's only a replacement. Yuni was the trusting, benevolent "Aria's daughter". Fran was the suspicious, bitter "spitting image of that-guy-who-married-Aria". She's even born with the "wrong" Flame; a strong primary Mist and a weak secondary Sky. But now that Yuni's vanished, Fran's the (grudging) Giglio Nero Boss. Byakuran's intrigued by a Fran who differs so drastically from her parallel selves. Meanwhile, Yuni being gone has a greater significance than any of them realize._

**Disclaimer:**

_KHR! rights go to Akira Amano._

_The cover picture may or may not be mine, depending on which one I'm using. I tend to switch frequently. In case it isn't mine, then this is a general disclaimer for that. So, yeah. Don't sue me, please._

**Note:**

_/insert words here/ are thoughts._

_Assume__ that they are speaking Italian unless otherwise stated or implied. Fran is canon-ly French, so her father here is French, and she is fluent in it. When stressed and cursing, whether out loud or mentally, she has a tendency to slip and slide back into French. __So, congratulation, you will probably be picking up an assortment of French profanity._

* * *

**Reviews:**

_Thank you, '__**ADDBaby**__', for your review. It was actually really easy. I just wish we had a little more time. Ah, well, at least it's not the PARCC. Not yet, anyway. Unfortunately , the PARCC is in two weeks. As are my Science and Social Studies and Language Arts post-tests. Argh, I'm just being __**overloaded**__ with tests… :[_

_Thank you, '__**alai**__', for your review. I definitely do plan on continuing, and hopefully you'll continue to enjoy it!~ :]_

_Thank you, '__**turtlehoffmann2251**__', for your review. Of course, because everyone wants a personal Siri. ;]_

* * *

_~The Mafia 'Elite' consists of such famous Famiglias, such as the Vongola, the Chiavarone, and the Giglio Nero, before they became the Millefiore. As the Millefiore details are kept strictly hush-hush on a need-to-know basis, they are quite unknown to the Mafia at large. Many believe that the Giglio Nero, who were long on a descent from their prime and the peak of their power, had finally fallen from grace and vanished into obscurity and obsolesce. Many factors contribute to whether or not a Famiglia is acknowledged as an 'Elite'. One requirement is that the Famiglia must not be a vassal Famiglia, and it is preferable for the Famigla to have vassals themselves. A vassal Famiglia is a Famiglia who have allied and accepted a subordinate position from their ally. It is mostly smaller, weaker, and fledgling Famiglias who choose to become vassals for a larger, more powerful, and more well-established Famiglia. They provide certain services and promise support, in exchange for protection. Some vassals are dedicated entirely to providing a safe food source for their 'overseer Famiglia'. Poisonings and food tampering have always been a very real problem for famous, and thus heavily targeted, Famiglias._

_Celandine is a cheerfully bright flower, as yellow as storybook sunshine, and tends to have eight outside petals, with numerous smaller petals surrounding the pollen-emitting center. Three species of flowers fall under it's name, two from the poppy family, and lesser celandine from the buttercup family._

_It can be analyzed to mean **joys to come**.~_

* * *

"A butterfly is a very good option to choose, Summoner. There are far, far worse options. Like moths. No bias cited, of course." - Vi

* * *

Fran really, really wants to facepalm right now.

Or slam her head into the table/wall.

(Whatever works, right?

Such stupidity might infect her; better for her to get out of her misery before that happens.)

But that will be unprofessional.

So, she settles for a mental sigh, then whacks the end of her scepter against the floorboards, resulting in a satisfyingly deep _thwack!_.

It grows quiet.

16 pairs of eyes swivel in eerie unison to focus intently on her.

She blankly blinks back at the now-silent captains lining the meeting table on both sides, clumping into Black Spell, White Spell, and Gray Spell, and mentally sighes again.

(That's her 28th mental sigh in the past thirty-one minutes, the tealette notes.

Wow, a new record.)

"Everyone, stay silent, except for the person who is supposed to be speaking."

Fran pauses for effect, and gives them all a meaningful look.

"The _only_ person who is supposed to be speaking, I might add. No accusations. Just the monthly report. This has dragged on for long enough."

Maybe it's the drawl, perhaps it's the unnervingly unreadable stare, perchance it's the subtle threat and reminder of their positions, but whatever it is, the captains appear suitably ashamed.

Squad 9's captain, a fit young woman with a crooked nose and a faded knife scar on her cheek, clears her throat and stands up.

"Thank you, Decima. As I was saying, Black Spell Girasole is doing well. Some more members have successfully called out their Flames. A few Rings broke last Testing Day. The required breakage reports and requests for replacements have been written up and filed; the broken Rings have been dropped off at the Labs' Collection Bin in case of possible reconstruction. As mandated, anyone with a strong Sun, Lightning, Rain, or Mist Flame, who have professed no objections to moving Spells or working with other Spells, have been submitted for possible Gray Spell relocation."

(Strong?

D-rank and above, Fran deduces.

Well, that's not too bad.

Nosaru's a D-rank, and Gamma sings his praises at least once every time she talks to him for longer than five minutes.

But _ugh_, more paperwork.

She'd leave a Solid Illusion clone of herself to do the work for her, but Fran doesn't quite trust a clone to be able to judge like she does, even if it's a clone of herself.)

"Recently, however, there have been a concerning _dissent_ in the ranks. Rumors. Of _sabotage_."

She stops and coughs delicately.

"And not to point any _fingers_, or mention any _names_, but…"

Her gaze purposely slides sideways to the cluster of white-uniformed captains.

"... my subordinates have _repeatedly_ sighted _White Spell_ members _lurking around_, and _always_ shortly before our equipment _malfunctions_, or we receive _false information_."

Squad 7's captain, who is the temperamental, touchy sort, immediately leaps up and slamms his hands onto the tabletop with cries of outrage from the other White Spell captains (with the exception of an increasingly twitchy and nervous Shoichi Irie) backing him up.

"Decima, I object to the 9th Captain's report! That's a blatant and baseless accusation right there! _My_ White Spells would _never_ do something like that! You_ Black Spells_, on the other hand, have been injuring some of our best men and women in a series of increasingly fishy '_training accidents_'! Don't you even _dare_ deny it, you_ fucking liars_!"

The rest of the Black Spell captains (with the exception of an increasingly stiff and worried Gamma), not to be outdone, rise out of their seats and begin returning fire.

"Why, you-!"

"Calling _me_ a fucking liar-!"

"I've seen them, clear as day, all suspicious and-!"

"Oh, as if _you guys_ haven't-!"

"You _bitch_-!"

"Fucking _bastard_-!"

"Gray Spell, subdue."

At the clear, ringing command (amplified by a neat little illusion), the resigned-looking Gray Spell captains obey.

The two Rain users (Squads 5 and 16) sent out a Tranquilizing wave of Rain Flames, the Sun user (Squads 11) makes sure to wake up anyone falling asleep from the Rain Flames, the Mist user (Squad 10) laces the air with multiple muscle-numbing illusions, and the Lightning user (Squad 13) just knocks out the more stubbornly struggling captains with a touch of crackling Lightning Flames to the head.

(The handy equivalent of a taser.)

Fran allows herself a brief moment of smugness at how 'well-trained' they were, and then does her duty as Head of Human Resources and one of the Millefiore Bosses.

Delegation.

"I don't want to deal with this right now. All Black and White Spell captains are on cleaning duty for the next week, with the exception of Shoichi and Gamma, who stayed out of the fray. Like reasonable people with common sense. I expect a detailed monthly report, free of bias and accusations, to be typed up and delivered to my private office before tomorrow. And as a warning, if any of you offend my secretaries, they'll probably 'accidentally misfile' your report, just because they're vengeful and petty and love to mess with your head like that. And because they're all Cervellos. So don't offend them.

"Gray Spell captains don't have to do cleaning duty since they stayed out of the fray as well. Besides, they prepared beforehand and handed in their monthly reports yesterday. You're all dismissed now; Shoichi, Gamma, stay behind. I need to talk to you two on behalf of both Byakuran and I."

With a nod and flick of the fingers, she lets them go.

Those on cleaning duty slink out sulkingly, grumbling (discretely) about favoritism and shooting dark glowers at each other.

Those in the the gray uniforms all salute her respectfully, and then neatly tromp out in a single-file line.

A Gray Spell woman with a '5' stitched on her sleeves is the last to leave.

/_Ah, our Head of Interrogation, Marie-Anne. Good woman, she is, and excels at what she does. I've seen her get a complete confession out of the hardest-to-crack prisoners in less than ten minutes, using only a spork and her right shoe. Her dangerous taste in pets is slightly concerning, but she seems to have them under control, so that's fine for now. Besides, she's probably the most eager-to-please of my captains._/

She gives the salute, and closes the door quietly behind her.

* * *

Fran meets the curious and silently probing eyes of Shoichi and Gamma.

"We're going to a party. Yay. Insert obligatory encouragement and propaganda here," she states flatly.

They internally sweat-drop at her (to-be-expected) bluntness.

"Um, d-details, Fran-san?" Shoichi asks tentatively, pushing up his glasses.

"Yes, Decima, such as _why_ are we going?" Gamma questions with a bit more surety, having mostly adjusted years ago to her strange humor.

She sighs with annoyance.

(Out loud, this time.)

"Byakuran, me, you two, and whoever you want to bring will be going to the Chiavarone Halloween Ball in one week. This is Millefiore's first Mafia invite, and it means that we've been noticed by the 'big leagues', so to speak. _You two_ are going for socializing and making connections. _Me and Byakuran_ are going for, unfortunately, politics with a capital 'P' and 'O' and the rest of the letters as well. So whoever you bring has to know when to shut their mouths, how to act socially acceptable, be able to control their temper, and tolerate wearing a costume. Yes, a costume, as in an _actual_ costume that has to somehow look formal and presentable as well."

Fran halts to glance over at them, indulging in a bit of theatrical suspense.

"And if it's any incentive at all, the Vongola are going."

The red-head, who knows the significance of such an event to Byakuran, sucks in his breath and clutches at his stomach painfully, nearly doubling over.

The blond, who isn't privy to as much confidential hush-hush business, seems to assume that the Vongola's presence is significant because of their high status as one of the Mafia 'Elite'.

As the _most_ 'Elite' of them all, to be honest.

"I'll bring Tazaru and Nosaru, then? Don't worry, I'll make sure to personally look over their costumes for suitability," Gamma assures, already planning away, a distracted gleam in his eyes.

/_Efficient and motivated. That's why he's my second-in-command. I want someone who won't muddle and stagnate./_

"And I'll bring Spanner," Shoichi confirms, easing up on his grip, his tense features relaxing with the comfort of getting things done.

/_Safe and predictable. That's why he's Byakuran's second-in-command. Byakuran wants someone he can trust and control._/

"Eh, whatever. Not my problem. I'll alert Spanner for you, though, since I'm heading down to his workshop anyway," Fran shrugs, making the decision for Shoichi, who acquiesces with a weak, grateful smile.

Twirling her scepter, she dismisses them by leaving the meeting room, and tap-tap-taps her way down to the Black Spell Labs.

* * *

"Hmm...? Oh, Boss, you here already?"

The green-eyed blond with a side-swirl in his blond hair looks up.

Fran peers down at the mess of gears and machinery that the genius mechanician is fiddling with, a wrench and some screws in his gloved hands. "Mm, yeah, with a message from Shoichi. Is that the new Mosca unit you were talking about in your last report?"

(Flame-proof, durable, and flexible gloves, whose designs were sketched out by Spanner himself.)

Spanner absently plucks a stray wire and snips it in half, his signature lollipop poking out of his mouth, nodding along with every mumbled word. "Uh-huh. The King Mosca's about 10% finished now. I'm basing it off of the Strau Mosca, but I'll probably add more features later to differentiate it a little more. But you're here for that Box, right?"

(He claims, very seriously, that the sugar helps him concentrate, by providing something to unconsciously focus on. Scientific tests and proofs be damned to a sugar-less hell.

[The worst kind of hell there is, he believes.])

She hums vaguely in agreement, knowing that his eyes are back on his latest pet project.

(Literally; Spanner didn't keep pets or plants, and instead treats his creations, hulking and monstrous and robotic as most of them are, as his pets.

Sometimes Fran wonders if Spanner is projecting all of his parental instincts onto his Mosca 'children'.)

A snap of his fingers summons a miniature Mosca, speeding around the corner of a scrap heap, and skidding to a stop in front of Fran, by digging its tires backwards with a rubbery squeal on the cold concrete floor.

It opens up the hatch in its belly, and presents a Mist Box to her, with what can pass for comical solemnity.

If it was able to emote.

Quirking up her lips in shallow amusement, she accepts the Box and moves closer, bending down to inspect the tiny robot. "And this is the Mini Mosca you mentioned a few months ago? The... how did you put it? Ah, yes, the 'personal-assistant and one-robot-kitchen and secure-storage-vault on wheels'?"

"Yup. Want a snack?" he offers.

The Mini Mosca snaps the hatch closed, before popping open two more hatches.

One of them contains a mound of eccentric-, er, _exotically_ flavored lollipops. The other one is a microwave, carrying a freshly heated plate of lasagna.

"It can also shoot popcorn out of its finger-chutes," the teen adds with a faint sound of pride.

Fran shakes her head and straightens up. "I'm fine."

The Box is held it up to the fluorescent lights for critical examination.

Although it is similar to a Mist Box for a Weapon or an Animal, the side with the 'keyhole' is plated with dulled chrome. It's edges are also curved, rather than the 90% angles of a regular Mist Box.

Those differences are all superficial, however, and only meant to clearly and easily set it apart from the standard Boxes.

The _real_ difference will be what is_ inside _of it.

That is, if it works.

And that's a big '_if'_, even for a genius mechanician like Spanner.

"Are you sure it'll work?"

"Test it," he shrugs, not the least bit stressed.

In his mind, there is no use worrying about something unmanageable.

Either the Box will work like it is meant, or it won't, and he'll just have to tinker with it until it does.

/_In terms of stamina and power, I'm the most disadvantaged among the Funeral Wreaths, even though my control is second to Byakuran's, because my Box Animal requires such a massive Flame drain. Vi's too useful to keep locked up, though. I mean, right now I haven't opened her Box at all the past two days, so I'm at the maximum of my Flame capacity. But I can't afford to wait two days for recovery from near-fainting levels. Theoretically, this Box I commissioned should fix that problem._/

She lights one of her rings, inserting it into the 'keyhole'.

(Four rings are being worn right now:

The illusioned/hidden Mist Mare Ring, a secret from everyone but the other true Mare Ring wielders.

The illusioned/hidden 6-6-6 Hell Ring, carefully squirreled away from _everyone_ [however, Byakuran might suspect she has it, if he sees one of her parallels wielding it, since Mare Rings tend to gravitate towards the same users if a parallel world's basic circumstances are similar enough.].

And two A-rank Sky and Mist rings she keeps for public everyday use, in full view, on the middle and index fingers of her left hand.)

It clicks open soundlessly and smokelessly, to reveal…

Nothing.

In fact, it opens rather like an ordinary storage box.

Fran feels her lips twitch again, this time in the slick, smooth sensation of satisfaction.

/_Perfect._/

Spanner, who briefly looks up again to watch her test the Box, explains, "Just like you ordered, Boss. A Box for storing Mist Flames and releasing them. 'Mist Batteries', I call the prototypes. They take hardly any Flames to open, and that one should be able to hold around 8% of your current Flame capacity, or about 35% of an average high B-Rank Mist's capacity, before breaking from the pressure. It will start feeling 'tight' around your hand as it nears it's limit. Purity and 'leakage' from inexperience factor in as well. Flames lose potency over time, so it's wisest to use up stored Flames within a week. Any later, and the suppression and containment and stasis programs in the Box will fall, letting the Flames age. If you approve the prototype, I have some more finalized ones almost finished, to hold 12%. I should have three more ready for pick-up by… the third Saturday of next month. I'll probably work on some Batteries for other Flame Types soon."

"I simply place my hand inside and channel my Flames?" she checks.

"The Box will do the rest by latching on and draining until either it's full or you break the connection, Boss. To break the connection, stop channeling Flames, or lift your hand out of the Box," he confirms.

She does as he says, a couple of experimental times, and is pleased to see he's right.

Closing the Box lid, it's slipped into one of the pockets sewn into the inside of her cloak.

"Improve the drain speed, improve the 'perfect storage' time, improve the limit, speed up the opening time, silence the opening 'click', shrink the size, and make it harder to accidentally drop by molding it more to a hand's grip. I expect ten more ready for pick-up in three and a half months. I'll probably drop in a few times in between to see how you're progressing. Space them out if you'd like. By the way, Shoichi's message is that you're his invited guest for the Chiavarone Halloween Ball in a week. It's formal-costume, and ask Shoichi for clarification on what constitutes as formal-costume. Meanwhile… I'll take _this_ with me. Just in case."

* * *

A week later, Fran steps into a Millefiore-emblazoned limo (bulletproof and black, secret agent-style).

She's unfortunately met with the beaming face of none other than Byakuran Gesso.

"You look lovely, Francy-chan~!"

"Oh, stop it. If I could get away with an illusion I would, but it'd be irritating to keep it up all night while juggling Big Politics at the same time. And Besides, I know I look strange, there's no need to rub it in," she snaps back.

Fran doesn't make a habit of being self-conscious in any way, as public approval is hardly her greatest concern, but it's been far too long since she's dressed up, and making a good impression on the potential connections at the Ball _does_ concern her _very very much._

All for the Millefiore.

Always for the Millefiore.

Anything for the Millefiore.

(Because the Millefiore is _hers_ now, in a way that the Giglio Nero never were, never will be, in a way whose differences Fran is acutely aware of.)

His gaze is serious. "I'm not joking. You do look lovely."

And then that merrily wild light is back in his lavender eyes, like lantern lights flickering behind a coy wax screen, like a bonfire doused in gasoline and kerosene and leaping up to skim the gauze ribbons floating above in celebration. "How do I look, Francy-chan~? Matches me, ne~?"

He's the Chesire Cat, apparently.

Byakuran has donned a white suit-top, tastefully striped in shades of purple. A purple handkerchief is folded over his front pocket, and pristine, white, fingerless satin gloves are on his hands. Fitted black dress pants and black dress shoes add the 'formal' touch. Subtle make-up accentuates the natural lavender of his irises, a cat nose and whiskers are painted, and realistic, twitching, furry white ears poke from a headband under his hair. (Presumably, the twitching comes from 'fancy scienc-y stuff' installed in the headband.) His already untamed white spikes spike even higher.

When he grins just right, he truly resembles a Chesire Cat sprung to life, trapped in a humanoid vessel, much like those shape-shifting mischievous trickster demons of Japanese legends.

"It's alright," Fran admits, truthfully, if a bit grudgingly.

(Honesty is her first choice, any time, but for personal reasons, she dislikes giving Byakuran compliments. Mostly since they inflate his already irritatingly cheerful attitude.)

She has gone for, embarrassingly (in her opinion), a butterfly.

-A butterfly is a very good option to choose, Summoner. There are far, far worse options. Like moths. No bias cited, of course.-

Fran has selected a dress, with silky half-arm bell sleeves, cut to slightly below her knees in the front and down to her ankles in the back, in a 'high-low' hem. The dress itself is made of layers of 'butterfly wings' in different textures and patterns of black-and-white, all sewn together to create the perception of a 'dress made of butterflies'. A large, shimmery sash in shades of blue and green wraps around her waist, and ties off into two long trails. Black fingerless gloves are on her hands, too, and black flats with minimalist ruffles cover her toes. She chose, with much reluctance, to part with her hat and scepter.

Instead, Vi hides in plain sight, posing as a black butterfly-ruffle-mesh-flower-sequin-something fascinator.

If anyone sees through her disguised "silk" wings, Fran can simply lie and say that the Flame-wings are some sort of new prototype technology from the Millefiore Labs.

(Sounds legit.

And really, Mafiosi are far more gullible than you'd think.

Living with the knowledge of Flames just prepares them for a life with suspension-of-disbelief.)

The rest of her hair is pinned back into a neatly braided twist-bun. Careful application of make-up (by the professional Millefiore Undercover Prepping Crew, who regularly moonlight as really good make-up artists) leave faint glittery traces around her eyes and dramatic mascara markings, causing her teal eyes to appear much different from her usual indifferent look.

"Shall we~?"

Byakuran's voice startles Fran out of her internal musing.

She glances up.

/_Oh. We're here._/

Accepting the blithely offered hand, Fran steps out of the limo.

/_Hmm… looks like we're all here. Shoichi's a very skittish red fox, Spanner's a bored… mechanic, and Gamma, Tazaru, and Nosaru are a trio of Death Reapers._/

And so the Millefiore head up the ridiculously long and winding lamp-lit driveway of the Chiavarone, soon arriving at the mansion's grandiose and overly imposing mahogany door.

Without a glimmer of fear, Byakuran presses the doorbell.

A crash and a curse is heard from inside.

Then the door swings open enthusiastically.

"Welcome to the Annual Chiavarone Halloween Ball!"

* * *

**Background Info**

**(why most Mists don't seem to carry weapons, and why some do):**

At first glance, or rather, first reason, it appears to be quite simple.

Mists use illusions.

Mental manipulation.

Therefore, they don't need weapons, right?

Wrong.

If that's the case, then why does Mukuro Rokudo, arguably one of the strongest Mists, if not the strongest Mist, have a trident?

(Why does Frances Brume have a staff/scepter?)

That also appears to be quite simple.

They see the logic in having a physical weapon to aid in their attacks, to divert suspicion of being a Mist, to fall back on when illusions just aren't cutting it.

Wrong.

Or, at least, only partially right.

They have weapons for those reasons, sure.

Certainly, it fits Mukuro's ideology of gaining power, it fits Fran's ideology of being a revolutionary pragmatist, it fits their ideology of being deceptive and prepared and not passing up on a possible advantage simply because 'it isn't done'.

But it's also because weapons make great foci.

Foci are the primary tools of any illusionist.

They are a conduit for their Flames; concentrating their Flames in a certain place is less difficult, and often increases the potency.

Another use is as a distraction point.

Think of them as an object the victim focuses on.

When one is focused on something, their mental barriers, natural or otherwise, 'loosen', for lack of a better word.

That makes it significantly easier to sneak foreign energies into their mind.

As in, perception of reality, thought-reading, mindscape intrusion, dreamwalking, etc.

Illusions and it's variations.

Again, mind manipulation.

This has not escaped the notice of the Mists throughout the centuries.

Mists tend to have more unstable psyches and be generally more unhinged and stubborn than your typical person, because their life-force is used to invade others' minds, and thus their own minds have gradually evolved to have thicker 'buffers' against such invasions.

'Layered' indeed.

That does not, however, make them any less perceptive, even if they tend to hold the idea of 'reality' as rather optional.

The first Mists to use a focus mostly made do with shiny feathers, exotic furs, smooth stones, strangely shaped leaves, carved sticks, intriguing claws, whittled bones, glassy beads, and other such scavenged treasures.

Foci were worn as adornments; threading them into clothes, into somewhere where the focus is automatically seen and can draw in the gazes of people.

The longer you have a certain foci, the more you use it, the better you take care of it, and the closer it is exposed to your Flames each day; those factors all affect the power and resilience of a focus.

A popular practice among Mists was to decorate their hair with their foci, and sort of have a 'show-off' contest whenever two Mists met.

Quantity was thought to be most important, as an indicator of strength, although quality was a close second, as an indicator of skill.

It was not uncommon to see people wandering around the medieval woods with heads bristling with brightly colored trinkets.

Mists of that time period tended to settle down as castle advisers, or roam the lands as soothsayers, fortune tellers, gypsies.

Witches.

Quite a lot of Mists were accused of witchcraft, back in the witch trials running rampant, and several were burned.

It was truly a pity; the ones who really burned were those too young to have gained any control over their Flames, since all those who could would simply 'Mist-travel' away, and leave behind an illusion, or they would leave as soon as they suspected their neighbors to suspect them.

If there wasn't a more experienced Mist in the area who was willing to help out a fellow Mist, maybe pick up an apprentice or two, then you were out of luck.

And, slowly, agonizingly, dead. With your ashes uncaryingly scattered by the four winds.

But back to the foci.

Jewelry and precious gems were popular, too.

Amulets, talismans, necklaces, bracelets, hairpins, rings, combs, gold chains threaded into a braid...

Ancient Egypt, especially, popularized the amulets.

In modern-day, there are plenty of other foci.

Nail polish, lipstick, eye-shadow, mascara, tattoos, piercings, eccentric dressing choices...

Anything eye-catching, really.

Eye-shadow and mascara highlight one's eyes, so in that case, it's quite literal.

A few misc. foci that enjoy relatively large amounts of continuous fame are pendants, clocks, tarot cards, crystal balls, jangly bells, clinking windchimes, etc.

The repetitive motion of the swinging pendant has helped many a Mist-turned-hypnotist, and the repetitive motion of the ticking clocks occupies much of one's attention in boredom, or silence.

Tarot cards and crystal balls give the victim something to focus upon, and are simple to channel Flames into.

The erratic sounds of bells or windchimes hitting together also attracts one's attention, if only subconsciously, and are often paired together with more obvious foci in order to maximize it's use as a background noise.

Only, the problem with some foci is that in the heat of battle, sometimes they don't stand out.

Or maybe the victims have become accustomed to the Mist's foci, and no longer narrow in on them or notice them distinctly.

Weapons as foci solve that problem.

If something potentially deadly is aimed your way, survival instincts mandate that you must pay attention to it, block it, counterattack it, whatever.

Pay attention!

There's nothing quite like the fear of getting skewered by trident tips as motivation.

It's not too pleasant getting whacked by a staff/scepter in the head or, ahem, in the privates, either.

Also, if the weapon is channeling Mist Flames, and manages to wound the victim, then the channeled Mist Flames will have a more direct route to the mind, which will make mind manipulation come into effect faster, since the Flames circulate into the body.

Maybe it's only a small difference.

But it's still a difference.

Mukuro and Fran didn't get to where they are today by discriminating against advancing their techniques and refining their abilities.

They got to where they are today by searching out every petty trick and minor aid, and then seizing them, claiming them, exploiting them for all they're worth.

Moral of this lesson?

Mists do have weapons, just not ones conventionally seen as weapons.

And that there are exceptions to every rule.

* * *

_**Revised 5/30/15.**_

_**Added: new dress for Fran, the flower thing, the background info, some elaboration for the Battery, overall editing.**_

_**#**_

_**#**_

_**#**_

_**Hoorah for cliffhangers~! And there's that inevitable 'describing clothes' scene. It's so fun to write, but it's always boring to the readers… :[**_

_**As for Fran's dress, here's an url: **_

**_ tinyurl [dot com] /onyc7sv_**

_**Just imagine it in black and white, with different textures (like a silky wing, a stiff wing, a ribbed wing, a pleated wing, etc.), and all these modifications mentioned earlier. So really, the url only gives an idea of how the wings were arranged.**_

_**Who do you think opened the door? Who do you **__**want**__** it to be? Dino? Tsuna? Enma? Belphegor (yay for B26~?)? The totally unexpected and uninvited crasher Haru? (It's an AU, so...)**_

_**#**_

_**#**_

_**~Please Review~**_

_**~I love reviews more than Gokudera loves discovering UMAs~**_


	14. Initiation

**Summary:**

_Fran's not dumb; she can tell she's only a replacement. She's Yuni's elder sister, but it was official that Yuni would be Boss after Aria died; it's clear everyone liked her kind, gracious and cheery attitude over Fran's indifferent, cold and cynical one. Yuni was the trusting, benevolent "Aria's daughter". Fran was the suspicious, bitter "spitting image of Aria's husband". She's even born with the "wrong" Flame; a strong primary Mist and a weak secondary Sky. But now that Yuni's vanished, Fran's the (grudging) Giglio Nero Boss, and will be the one meeting with Gesso. She's got a bad feeling about their Boss, though; Byakuran's intrigued by a Fran who differs from her parallel selves. Meanwhile, Yuni being gone has a greater significance than any of them realize. TYL!Fran, Fem!Fran, Very AU._

**Disclaimer:**

_KHR! rights go to Akira Amano._

_The cover picture is not mine. It belonged to an insanely talented deviantart artist who I have no way of contacting, so please don't sue me._

* * *

**Reviews:**

_Thank you, '__**turtlehoffmann2251**__', for your review. It makes you wonder why the researchers and engineers even sold off all of the Rings and Box Weapons and Animals for 'ridiculously cheap prices', as stated by the Reborn wikia. (Paraphrased, of course. I'm too lazy to go and actually search up the specific wording.)_

* * *

**Quotes:**

"_It's, um, it's actually Shoichi. Not, uh, 'Sho-chan'. Shoichi Irie." - Shoichi _

. . .

'_How did you get his psychoanalysis report? Wait, __when__ did you get his psychoanalysis report?' - Fran_

'_Oh, look, another Varia member.' - Vi_

'… _And when did you learn misdirection?' - Fran_

_. . ._

'_So, like, a lion __cub__, maybe? Or a very aggressive Himalayan cat.' - Fran_

. . .

'… _Do you have a grudge against cats or something?' - Fran_

'_No, I'm merely stating a fact as a pseudo-member of butterfly society.' - Vi_

. . .

'_I'd advise you to take the rumors with a pinch of salt.' - Vi_

'_The idiom is, 'with a __grain__ of salt.' - Fran_

'_I am well aware of that, Summoner. However, in this case, much more than a single grain is needed.' - Vi_

. . .

' _...Wait, is he what he meant when he said my parallels were usually apprenticed under a pineapple?' - Fran_

* * *

Dino Chiavarone was a very clumsy person.

He knew this, and he accepted it.

Still, it didn't make tripping down the stairs any less embarrassing.

Especially when he tripped down the stairs in his rush to answer the door, and thus was nursing a rapidly forming bruise on his arm as he turned the doorknob.

(In his defense, all he had wanted to do was help out a little with the party. Everyone seemed busy doing something, and even Romario had been called away to the kitchen a few minutes ago for a complication with the food allergies. So, he figured that he could at least open the door and greet the guests.)

"Welcome to the Annual Chiavarone Halloween Ball!" he enthused, flinging open the door, and trying desperately to recall all the lessons on proper hosting etiquette that Reborn had beat into him.

(Literally, _beat into him_. /Sadistic baby tutor-hitmen.../ )

Amused amethyst eyes looked straight back at him.

Off to the side, unnervingly blank teal eyes glanced disinterestedly at him, and then glanced away again.

And just like that, his confidence was annihilated and all of the lessons on proper hosting etiquette flew right out of his head.

He scrambled for what to say next; because, clearly, that rather expectant silence meant that he was supposed to say something next, right?

...Right?

/I really wish I'd brought one of my subordinates with me.../

"U-um, I'm Dino Chiavarone, the Chiavarone Head, and I'll be your host for tonight! May I please see your invitation and proof of Famiglia, first?"

The white-haired 'Chesire Cat' teen presented him with a thickly folded letter.

A quick 'sense' and Dino confirmed that it was, indeed, his own Sky Flames in the seal. "And Famiglia?"

The boy flashed a grin that suited his costume quite well.

(And reminded Dino of a certain "Ushishishi~-ing" Varia prince. He then hopefully prayed that this one would'nt be as psychotic and bloodthirsty and creepy. [Pfft, no. Poor Dino, he's not getting his wish granted.])

"Millefiore~! I'm Byakuran Gesso, co-leading with the lovely Fran over there~! As for _proof_?" He shrugged and sent out a short, controlled burst of Sky Flames. "Is that enough? 'Proof' isn't very specific, and documents and rings can be stolen or forged~."

The blank-faced 'butterfly' tealette glanced over briefly and added a swirl of her own Sky Flames. "Hi," she greeted flatly.

Dino chuckled nervously and tried to recall if he'd invited a 'Millefiore'. /Oh, yeah, that 'up-and-coming' Famiglia that Romario recommended I add to the guest list after their recent string of successful assassination jobs. Well, at least Byakuran seems friendly enough, even if the other Boss appears more of the 'stoic' sort. Co-leading, huh? I wonder how that happened.../

"Ah, yes, that should be fine! Uh, I'm pretty sure that the coatroom is the first door on your left if you go down this hallway. If you have no coats, I can just escort you to the ballroom; that's where everyone else is."

Byakuran smiled cheerfully and shook his head. "Oh, that's fine. We don't have any coats, so lead on, Dino-kun!"

A bit thrown off by the sudden Japanese honorific inserted in his otherwise accentless Italian, Dino attempted to make some conversation while he walked the Millefiore down the ridiculously long and complicated 'Main Hallway' of his house (mansion, really, but he liked to be humble).

"So, er, do you enjoy visiting Japan? Is that where your honorifics came from?"

Still smiling (and looking progressively more feline), Byakuran shook his head again.

"No, I picked that up from Sho-chan over there.~ We met at school a few years ago and hit it off. Next thing I know, I'm the head of a Famiglia and he's my genius techie subordinate.~"

The mentioned red-head, dressed up as a fox, sighed with resignation at his nickname and nodded awkwardly at Dino. "It's, um, it's actually Shoichi. Not, uh, 'Sho-chan'. Shoichi Irie. N-nice to meet you, Chiavarone-san?" His voice skittishly lilted upwards at the end, making it sound like a question.

The blond 'mechanic' at his side lifted up a casual hand in a wave. "Yo. Spanner here."

The three 'reapers' spoke up next out of obligation.

"It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Don Chiavarone. I'm Gamma, captain of Millefiore Black Spell Squad 2," stated the stern blond man with gelled hair.

"Same here, Don Chiavarone, as Tazaru," said the other blond, who was a dark-skinned man.

"If my bros say so, than ditto for me! I'm Nosaru!" piped up the youngest 'reaper' of the bunch, a pink-haired teen whose gender he couldn't really tell.

/I-is it a guy or a girl…?/ Dino opted to just smile-and-nod at them all, thankfully reaching the ballroom's open doorway.

"Please, enjoy yourselves!~" He watched as they dispersed into the mingling crowd of Mafioso, and mentally sweat-dropped, before turning back to the hallway.

/That was stressful… now where was Romario? The kitchen, right?/

* * *

/The Chiavarone certainly went out with style,/ Fran thought.

Shortly after entering the ballroom, the Millefiore members had each split off.

Gamma, Tazaru, and Nosaru went to greet and reminisce with some former allies of the Giglio Nero, and probably to present the possibility of establishing new alliances with the Millefiore.

Shoichi and Spanner had gone to chat with some of their researcher and engineer acquaintances, and probably to 'geek-talk' about their new projects.

Byakuran had left to track down the Vongola Decimo, and probably to lay down the foundation of a good impression so that he could more easily ferret out information from him.

Which meant that Fran was idly wandering around by herself, casting a coolly observant gaze over the loudly speaking guests.

/Vi, are you watching all of this?/

-Recording is in process, Summoner.-

It was rather amusing, actually, to see big-bad-Mafioso garbed in costumes.

Some of them were tasteful, understated, and elegant.

Most of them were outlandish, garish, and did _not_ help their looks at all.

A few managed to place neatly in the in-between of the spectrum.

The Varia were causing a stir, for sure.

Xanxus, with a dark glower, was sprawled imperiously on his throne, wine glass in hand and eating a plate of rare steak, dripping blood.

He was a raccoon.

A very fierce and devilish red-eyed raccoon, but a raccoon nonetheless.

/_That's_ a memory I'll be replaying in my mindscape later./

Squalo's costume was more predictable, but judging by the fuming glares he sent Xanxus, his costume was not one that he would've picked himself.

He was a shark.

A very loud and growly long-haired shark, but a shark nonetheless.

/He's probably restraining his swears and shouts because of the witnesses./

-That theory seems to be the most likely one, Summoner, if you read his profile and psychoanalysis report.-

/How did you get his psychoanalysis report? Wait, _when_ did you get his psychoanalysis report?/

-Oh, look, another Varia member.-

/… And when did you learn misdirection?/

Belphegor was indeed strutting around with a mighty pleased expression on what was visible of his face, definitely happy with what _he_ had dressed up as.

(Or maybe he just killed someone. That expression is nearly identical with his 'pleased' expression.)

He was Jack the Ripper.

A very blond and laughing tiara-wearing Jack the Ripper, but Jack the Ripper nonetheless.

/Huh, I never really pinned him as a person who liked puns. And is that real blood on those quite real knives he's handling?/

-Genii typically are egotistic, and thus this vain action is only to be expected of him. The scans on the blood and knives come up as an 67% match, Summoner. It's probably animal blood on titanium, or a human-animal mixture.-

/Oh-_kay_, moving on now./

Levi was an umbrella.

/Moving on some _more._/

Lussuria was a peacock.

/Wow, I did _not_ need to see that. Erase it from your records, Vi. And the umbrella, too./

-Footage deleted, Summoner. Shall I start a new film for the Vongola 10th Generation?-

/It'd be appreciated, yes./

* * *

The Vongola Decimo, a certain Tsunayoshi Sawada, attempted to be a lion.

(Read: _attempted_.)

As it was, his overly fluffy brown hair would've been better suited for a sheep.

Or a cotton ball.

Or, well, a cloud.

Still, the assertive orange glint that threaded through his otherwise placid brown eyes made up for it in sheer presence alone.

/So, like, a lion _cub_, maybe? Or a very aggressive Himalayan cat./

-Himalayan cats are unpredictable like that, true. They also, for some unfathomable reason, have a strange fascination with ripping off the fragile appendages from small animals and insects.-

/… Do you have a grudge against cats or something?/

-No, I'm merely stating a fact as a pseudo-member of butterfly society.-

Hayato Gokudera, a rather infamous figure in the Mafia for both his blazing temper and blazing dynamite, was a dog.

A shaggy silver sheepdog.

With a spiked punk-ish collar and trailing after his 'Jyuudaime' with a lost-puppy/puppy love look of adoration.

/That's… rather appropriate, then. His loyalty to the Vongola Decimo is well-known./

Hibari Kyoya had refused to wear a costume.

In fact, as far as Fran could tell, he had also initially refused to attend the Halloween Ball.

But since he was now spotted lurking menacingly around the shadowed hallways, she could only assume that someone had managed to drag him here, by hook or by crook.

-Or by guilt-tripping and bribery, Summoner. Rumor has it that the Cloud Guardian consented to appear because Dino was his teacher once. Of course, rumor also has it that the Varia Rain Guardian is really a girl with identity issues and an infatuation with Xanxus, and that the Mist Guardian is in a secret relationship with the Cloud Guardian. I'd advise you to take the rumors with a pinch of salt.-

/The idiom is, 'with a _grain_ of salt.'/

-I am well aware of that, Summoner. However, in this case, much more than a single grain is needed.-

Mukuro Rokudo and Chrome/Nagi Dokuro were pirates.

She in her eyepatch and deckhand's outfit and trembling, clutching a trident.

He in his captain's hat and royal regalia and smirking, grasping another trident.

For added effect, Mukuro had apparently conjured up a Real illusion of a squawking parrot to perch on his shoulder and annoy Hibird (and consequently Hibari, probably on purpose).

/And of course they let him get away with using Flames, since he's the Vongola Mist Guardian. Ah, well, I can't really complain. As good as I am, he's still atop of the illusionist food chain. Byakuran _did_ say that Mukuro's parallels were also able to fool the Vindice, right? ...Wait, is _he_ what he meant when he said my parallels were usually apprenticed under a pineapple?/

Ryohei Sasagawa was looking more boxer-like than usual, and Takeshi Yamamoto was a knight.

Of sorts.

/Is he trying to be a baseball-knight…?/

The sole 8 year olds at the party, Lambo Bovino and I-Pin, were having a verbal spar in the corner.

It was faintly surreal to watch a giant dumpling whacking a cow calf on it's very curly head of hair.

/Huh, you'd think that she'd be a steamed bun because of her Gyoza Fist./

-New film for the Arcobaleno?-

/A shorter one, probably. Less people and all./

* * *

Reborn, being the rightfully arrogant little bastard that he was, had apparently forgone the costume and instead chosen to capture prime blackmail moments in his Leon-camera.

Mammon had similar ideas, though his/her goal was probably a monetary pay-off for the pictures and videos.

Fon parted the crowd with his stately Chinese emperor robes and serene aura.

Skull was boasting off to the side in his surprisingly artful zombie get-up.

Colonello, also off to the side, was proposing vows of love to Lal Mirch, all the while in a typical Army sniper uniform.

The COMSUBIN instructor and incomplete Arcobaleno, in full Army fatigues, was blushing hotly and beating up her "idiot kora-ing student".

Aaannnddd… Verde, in a Dr. Frankenstein costume, was trying to escape a horde of worshipful wannabe scientists.

-That's not a costume, Summoner.-

/You mean that he actually dresses like that everyday?/

-That statement would be normally be implied, correct.-

The Sky Arcobaleno…

Fran immediately redirected her thoughts.

That way led to a jumble of _fear__**hate**__**guilt**_; she'd prefer to avoid it as much as possible.

/Politics. That's what I'm here for. Politics and alliances and fine print and double-meanings, not _memories_ and _feelings_. I've indulged enough; time to get down to work./

With that mantra firmly affixed in her mind, the tealette turned to survey the room with a more clinical view.

-Mariposa Juliette Aracnide is 39 degrees to your right,- Vi supplied helpfully.

-The curly blond with the pale green eyes; she's the daughter and heir of the Ragnatela Secunda. It would be best if you make the Millefiore presence known and propose an offer of alliance with the Ragnatela Famiglia; they're fifteenth on Byakuran's list of future annexations, because of their fortune in state-of-the-art bullet-proof cloth from their Famiglia's specially genetically modified spiders. If she accepts the alliance, then that'll make it easier to slowly subvert them. If she doesn't, then we'll have a better read on her character and had collected some information about Ragnatela workings. Plus, she'll most likely mention our offer to her mother later, so Secunda will at least know to keep an eye on the Millefiore, raising the chances of her coming to us later for an alliance.-

/Right. I'll do that, then./

Plastering her most convincingly pleasant 'I-totally-want-to-be-here-and-listen-to-your-unimportant-first-world-problems' smile, Fran smoothly made her way over to the nervous-looking girl. "What a beautiful dress! I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I'm rather new here and don't know your name as of yet. I'm Fran Brume, lovely to make your acquaintance," she interjected with all the sincerity she could muster up.

Mari appeared startled, and then eagerly reciprocated. "Oh, thank you! Your hair clip is truly inspired. I'm Mariposa Aracnide; perhaps you've heard of my mother, the Ragnatela Secunda?"

Fran faked polite confusion, tilting her head to the side. "The Ragnatela? They specialize in cloth, right?"

As Mari plunged into a long, detailed explanation about the specifics of the fibers and feed and insect breeding to get the best quality threads, Fran snuck a quick side glance at where Byakuran was.

/Byakuran's already cornering the Vongola Decimo, that sly dragon. So I may as well do _my_ job properly as well. Anything else would be inefficient.

And in the Mafia, inefficiency can get you killed./

* * *

_**#**_

_**#**_

_**#**_

_**Filler scene right now, sorry. The whole 'Byakuran and Tsuna confrontation' will have to come tomorrow. It's all verbal and internal, no worries. At least there's plenty of adorable Vi and Fran fluff?**_

_**So what did you think? Do their costumes fit?**_

_**Also, if you read the last chapter yesterday, reread it. I changed Fran's outfit slightly. Not very important, but still.**_

_**Omake requests are still open~.**_

_**And I've been thinking about starting a side-fic about a 'Mese Famiglia'. Mese = Month. Lots of OCs, naturally, so should I risk it? If I do, how should I make them relate to KHR? Should they ally with Byakuran, with Vongola, stay neutral and give snarky remarks about the plot, become meddlers? It'll be a slow updater, since most of my attention is on this fic right now. **_

_**#**_

_**#  
~Please Review.~**_

_**~I like reviews as much as G likes denying that he has pink hair.~**_

_**(G: "It's **__**red**__**, damnit, **__**not pink!**__**")**_

_**[Yeah, no. It's totally pink. ;) ]**_


	15. Congregation

**Summary:**

_Fran's not blind, and Fran's not deaf; she can tell she's only a replacement. Yuni was the trusting, benevolent "Aria's daughter". Fran was the suspicious, bitter "spitting image of that-guy-who-married-Aria". She's even born with the "wrong" Flame; a strong primary Mist and a weak secondary Sky. But now that Yuni's vanished, Fran's the (grudging) Giglio Nero Boss. Byakuran's intrigued by a Fran who differs so drastically from her parallel selves. Meanwhile, Yuni being gone has a greater significance than any of them realize._

**Disclaimer:**

_KHR! rights go to Akira Amano._

_The cover picture may or may not be mine, depending on which one I'm using. I tend to switch frequently. In case it isn't mine, then this is a general disclaimer for that. So, yeah. Don't sue me, please._

**Note:**

_/insert words here/ are thoughts._

_Assume__ that they are speaking Italian unless otherwise stated or implied. Fran is canon-ly French, so her father here is French, and she is fluent in it. When stressed and cursing, whether out loud or mentally, she has a tendency to slip and slide back into French. __So, congratulation, you will probably be picking up an assortment of French profanity._

* * *

**Reviews:**

_Thank you,'__**ADDBaby**__', for your review. _

_Well, that question's easy: I wake up, drag myself to school, doodle story ideas in my notebook margins, drag myself back from school, sit in front of a laptop and type and read until midnight, cram in whatever homework I neglected, dump myself in bed, and rinse and repeat for five days of the week. _

_Then I sleep and eat and type on Saturdays before heading off to Sunday Chinese school to type some more after class. I also have a handy machine in my brain that converts reviews and views into pure motivation, so I suppose you could say that I am indeed running on Dying WIll Flames. _

_And didn't you hear? Xanxus wasn't in a tutu, he was the homicidal drunk carnivorous raccoon lurking in the corner.~ :]_

_Thank you, '__**Kat**__', for your review. I'm planning on her having a few brief encounters, but the majority of Varia interaction will come in the Future Arc. Yup, the planned pairing for this fic is 10026. (If you like it, try reading 'Madness and Mayhem and Magic'; it's a one-shot AU of this fic that you can find on my profile. I mean, there won't be much explicit romance, and they won't be 'going out' officially, but I'll add some fluffy omakes, and there will be hints and nudges towards it. Because, well, 10026 is complicated. Really, really complicated, and trying to plausibly think of their dynamics would end up with them having this really subtle and convoluted relationship._

* * *

_~When wandering the scented, aromatic flower-lined paths of the Chiavarone Gardens, it's very likely that one will eventually come across a small pond, tucked away amid a grove of weeping willows. That pond, nicknamed 'Misery Lake', certainly does not live up to it's dismal moniker. It's beautifully clear waters are host to several thriving, prime specimens of koi, and clusters of wildflowers on the banks add truly inspired splashes of color to the perfect backdrop for any candid pictures. 'Misery Lake' was only coined as such, because Chiavarone Decimo's pet turtle has an unfortunate propensity for finding it's way to the pond and... taking a dip. Of course, for the 'spongy' turtle, taking a dip more often than not will result in much agony and torturous trouble for those in charge of shrinking Enzo back down to manageable sizes. _

_Irises are pretty, and commonly available, making them one of the more easily recognizable flowers. It's name originated from the Greek word for 'rainbow', because of the wide range of colors irises come in. _

_It can be analyzed to mean **eloquence**, faith, hope, **compliments**, purity, **wisdom**, and passion.~_

* * *

/I remember that Reborn once taught me 87 ways to kill someone with a champagne flute… should I put those lessons to practice now?/ - Tsuna

* * *

Tsunayoshi Sawada (or as he thinks of himself as, Sawada Tsunayoshi) likes to believe that he's a simple sort of person.

He lives by a set of simple rules, and strives for a simple life.

When that dream of a simple life is brutally annihilated, crushed underfoot, shot to piece, blown up, bitten to death, beat up to the EXTREME~, sliced to sushi slivers, electrocuted with pink smoke and bratty snot and grape lollipops, banished to the 6 Realms of Hell, and fed to Enzo by the arrival of a certain baby tutor-hitman from H-E-double-hockey-sticks, Tsuna sticks even more firmly by his rules, now with a few necessary additions.

1\. Protect your family.

2\. Protect your friends.

3\. Protect innocents.

4\. Try to be as good of a person as you can be.

5\. Listen to Reborn if you don't wanna die.

6\. Listen to your Hyper Intuition if you don't wanna die.

7\. Don't die for a stupid reason such as ignoring one of the rules listed above.

8\. If you do die for a stupid reason such as ignoring one of the rules listed above, you probably deserve it, and Primo will definitely hound you for the rest of your afterlife.

(Every single time he glances at Rule #8, he shudders without fail.

The blond-haired man-child is annoying enough as it is; being unable to escape from him by tossing away the Vongola Ring for a couple of hours of desperately-needed reprieve is a living nightmare.

Or, well, dying nightmare?

Since he'd be dead?

... Eh, whatever, just don't die too soon.)

See?

Simple.

His Hyper Intuition, while admittedly still not up to the supposedly prophetic standards of Primo, is still eerily accurate enough that he knows better than to doubt it.

And right now, it's setting off blaring alarm bells and ringing sirens and that thrice-damned irritatingly-catchy smartphone ringtone-jingle in his head.

_!WalkAway__**WalkAway**__**WalkAway**__! _

If that isn't enough, a sense of urgency shockwaves through his mind..

All because of a white-haired, purple-eyed boy around his age heading his way.

Heading for him.

Tsuna takes in a calming breath and makes his decision.

The boy has already spotted him spotting _him_, so he definitely can tell that Tsuna's aware of his approaching presence.

Too late to back out now.

He turns to await the teen's arrival; his fingers clench a little tighter on his glass of champagne, and he hopes the sign of stress, comparable to the scent of blood for the hungry sharks swarming the party, hasn't been noticed.

(If all the other Bosses are sharks, than the Vongola Decimo is an orca.

... Killer whales can take down sharks.)

/_Remember, Tsuna, 'obliviously innocent friendliness' is your friend. You got all of those amazing genes from Nana [and unfortunately Iemitsu], so use 'em!_/

"Ah, hello! I don't believe I've seen you before; are you new?"

* * *

-Translation: I don't recognize you, so you're either suspicious or so weak that you don't register. What, is this your first time at a place like this?-

* * *

The teen smiles back, his eyes curving up into crescents.

A white-gloved hand is offered in greeting.

Quality fabric; the mark of a well-known Mafia tailor, frequented by high-up Mafiosi, including many of the Vongola Guardians, is shown.

Deliberate, then.

"I'm Byakuran Gesso; and yes, this is indeed Millefiore's first public outing. You could say that we've been laying low these past 3 years or so. Best to build up some safety nets before."

* * *

-Translation: I'm from the Millefiore Famiglia. This is our first time, simply out of choice. And who's to say that we haven't made some more clandestine appearances? We've been building up our strength, and we're prepared, so don't underestimate us.-

* * *

_!The hand is safe, it'd be bad if you didn't accept, takeit__**Takeit**__**TakeIt**__!_

Tsuna chuckles, covering up it's mirthlessness with charm and a cough, and takes the proffered hand, shaking it.

He gives a warm (false) smile of his own.

"I understand completely. The Vongola, being such a large Famiglia, often requires oh-so-many precautions before I can even step out the door of Headquarters. Guardians are such overprotective beings.

"Oh, I nearly forgot to introduce myself: Sawada Tsunayoshi, Vongola Decimo. Or rather, in Italy, I suppose it's Tsunayoshi Sawada, no?

"And if it's not too much trouble to ask, what convinced the Millefiore to finally make an entrance into the active Mafia? It was certainly a good entrance; thirty high-profile assassinations in three days is impressive for a a Famiglia of your size."

* * *

-Translation: _We're_ prepared too, with back-ups and back-ups _for_ the back-ups. If anything happens to me, my Guardians will slaughter you and the Vongola will peck apart your Famiglia. After all, I'm the Boss; unless you were so underinformed as to not know that beforehand? So what's Millefiore's motives for taking part in Mafia politics, anyway? What's so important about _now_? I suppose those kills are decent... for such a _small _and _unimportant_ Famiglia.-

* * *

Byakuran looks supremely unaffected.

Minorly smug, by the tilt of his head and the gleam in his eyes and the slightest hint of teeth bared in a smirk.

"Yes, I imagine that the paperwork from managing such a prestigious Famiglia must be tremendous. My Guardians seem to be of the same sort.

"And it's no trouble at all to answer a little question; from Boss to Boss, eh? Well, I suppose it just seemed that the Millefiore were sufficiently prepared to start being competition. One can't play defensively for too long if there's no-one playing offense with them. Our ranks are bigger than formerly expected, too.

"Those assassinations? Oh, they were good enough for a trial run, at any rate. Millefiore will be actively taking missions soon, of course."

* * *

-Translation: You're just burdened by bureaucracy and hampered by the useless dead-weight weighing you down. I've got Guardians too, dontcha know? I'm a Boss, just like you. We're on the same level, so don't put on airs. The Millefiore are strong, and the Millefiore are big. We're ready to start going after rivals and clawing our way up the Mafia food chain. It's dull with nothing to do but just sit and wait for those foolish someones to attempt and horribly fail at attacking us. _Those_ assassinations? Pfft, child's play. A practice test, you realize. We'll be finishing lots of harder missions faster in no time flat; you'd better get ready for the carpet of mission revenue to be pulled out from under your feet.-

* * *

Tsuna, still relaxed, nevertheless pulls on what his Guardians always reference, with minute trembles and justified respect, as his 'Decimo' aura.

His eyes flash an intimidating orange.

Purple eyes calmly stare straight at them, unwavering, a challenge.

(_How will you answer?_)

A tense silence surround them for a moment.

"Oh?" he questions, cautiously bright, carefully twisting the glass around and around and around in his hands.

/_I remember that Reborn once taught me 87 ways to kill someone with a champagne flute… should I put those lessons to practice now?_/

"Well, that's all very nice and interesting to hear. But if I may be blunt with you, Gesso Byakuran… _what are you trying to do?_"

* * *

-Translation: Skip the hemming and hawing and be honest with me. _Why did you come and seek me out? What are you trying to accomplish by approaching the Vongola Decimo?_-

* * *

There is another short silence as the lion waits for the Cheshire Cat to answer, and the Chesire Cat takes his sweet, sweet, marshmallow-sweet time to mull over his words.

Then a grin worthy of Cheshire Cats creeps over his sharply handsome features, and in his most whimsical voice, he replies with utter conviction, "_I want to change the world. I want to change the world into a perfect world where everyone can be alive and __**happy**__."_

The softly beautiful lion, who may look like a naively gullible cub in body, but remains a wisely astute lion at heart, looks at the Cat.

Really, really, _looks_ at him.

And he evaluates the sincerity and strange solemnity threading through the whimsy, pondering if the Cat _really__**truly**__**honestly**_ means those words.

* * *

-Translation: _I want to change the world. I want to change the world into a perfect world where everyone can be alive and __**happy**__._-

* * *

_!He's truthful DoN'tTRusThIm! __**He's truthful dOn'TtRuSthiM! **__**He's truthful! DOn'tTrUStHIm!**__!_

/_Looks like my Hyper Intuition is no help. On one hand, he's, well, truthful, and on the other hand, I'm clearly being warned to stay away from him. What to do, what to do? Choices, choices. Ah, hell, I'm overthinking this._/

Tsuna looks directly at the unnerving purple - no, not purple, they're violet or lavender or amethyst, not plain purple, never _plain_, always marvelously grandly destined for something _greater_ something better something **_more _**\- eyes of the Millefiore Boss.

He raises his glass slowly, half-filled with the finest champagne that the Chiavarones are dumb enough to supply Mafioso with.

(The greatest bill piled up from Mafia parties are the drunken damage and debauchery charges.)

"That sounds like a very ambitious goal, Gesso Byakuran. I'll be watching your progress, then. In fact, that sounds like a dream that I'd admire. That sounds like a dream I'd drink to."

* * *

-Translation: I'll be keeping an eye on you. For good or for bad, I'm not sure as of yet.-

* * *

Smiling again, Byakuran smoothly lifts a glass of champagne from the tray of a nearby waiter who is oblivious to the fact that his tray is now missing one drink.

He raises it in turn, and gazes back with tangible mirth and a reckless, wild sort of merriment.

"I've found that I'm a very ambitious person, Sawada Tsunayoshi. I'll make sure to put on a show for you, then."

* * *

-Translation: I'll reach my goal, I _will_. You just watch me.-

* * *

There is a sound of clinking glasses.

They drink to it.

* * *

"You look happy, Byakuran," Fran comments off-handedly, on their way back to HQ in a limo.

He just smiles at her, stretching the whisker marks across his face.

"I assume your meeting with the little Decimo went well?"

"You assume correctly~."

"What was the point of that, anyway? Weren't we supposed to be staying under the Vongola radar so that the sneak attacks would be more successful later on?"

"There's no fun in that, Francy-chan~. What's a game without players?"

She's quiet for a moment.

Thinking.

Odd.

"Is this what this whole thing is to you? ...A game?"

Lavender irises narrow slightly.

Something's up.

What?

"...Maybe. What is it to you?"

A one-shouldered shrug, an aborted reach to adjust a hat that isn't there.

Her dress shifts and rustles silkily as she turns to look out of the tinted windows.

Breaking eye-contact.

Avoidance.

"It doesn't matter much to me. I just thought that you were more invested in gaining the Tri-Ni-Set for a perfect world of happiness, that's all."

Another shrug.

Half-truth.

Half-lie.

"I guess I was wrong."

Neither speak up for the rest of the trip.

(_thinking oddly what's up avoid contact truths lies_)

/_Why do I care if he thinks it's a game? I'm just here to stave off boredom… right?_/

/_Is it true? Is she right? I like to compare it to a game, yes, but in the end my intentions are still as pure as the promise I made Madre… right?_/

/_**That's right… **__**right**__?_/

* * *

**Background Info: A Study In Teal**

**(-also a reply to Kat's review-):**

So...

Let's talk about Fran.

I've always thought Canon!Fran to be a character with a lot of promise.

He doesn't feel pain that much, his family and previous history is a blank, and his information is apparently heavily classified.

We don't even know his age!

And those eye-markings… do they signify anything? Illusionist parents, maybe, considering Mammon's triangle-markings? But in which case, why doesn't Mukuro have them?

Maybe he wasn't born from illusionist parents?

But the eye-markings aren't really important in this story. Moving on…

Canon!Fran is blunt and monotone and seems to not care what other people's reactions are.

Or maybe he finds their reactions amusing and purposely provokes them, heedless of the personal danger involved, a.k.a. getting stabbed over and over by Belphegor.

But why does he never show any emotion?

Disconnect from feelings, maybe? Emotionally repressed? Internalizing disorder?

Why would he need to repress his emotions, if that's the case?

I also partly interpreted that as him being what he sees as 'honest'. If he thinks Bel is a fake prince, why should he not tell him? So he does, and seemingly doesn't mind the knives. Meaning that he is used to pain.

Why would a boy who reportedly lived in a peaceful countryside French town with his grandmother be used to pain? And if he was casting illusions even before the Varia and Kokuyo gang came to recruit him, who knows how talented he really is and how much he's hiding?

It's natural for Mists to conceal themselves, right?

Repressed emotions+high pain tolerance+classified history = possible prior Mafia knowledge/heritage, possible neglectful childhood, possible abusive childhood, possible runaway (as in, not his real grandma, he just wandered in, brainwashed her/did-some-Mist-mind-trick-thingy and lived 'under the radar' with her), possible...

A lot of possibilities, truly.

.

Replacement-verse!Fran is still blunt and monotone, but less so.

She looks for 'interesting' things to lift her out of her boredom.

I characterize her as consciously emotionally repressed to an extent, with dubious morals, since she feels very little to no guilt whatsoever for killing or stealing or lying.

She's still honest to a fault, and values honesty, but knows when to rein it in, and knows when and how to lie, because I assumed she would've picked up on these skills after growing up as a heiress to a large Famiglia, even as a mostly unacknowledged heiress.

As a child, she's smart and precociously mature; it's not too hard to understand that honesty has it's place, and sometimes honesty will get you killed in the Mafia, or at least make your life very miserable and very, very difficult.

Plus, lying would've helped her hone her apathy and steer clear of, ahem, troublesome happenings that could end up badly for her.

(Sorry, I just imaged Fran in a Shikamaru haircut. He'd/she'd look rather like Mukuro, then, wouldn't he/she? Kokuyo Mist Trio, hence christened the Pineapple Mists.)

Even if they make no sense to her, even if she sees no point in them, Fran's learned that it's simply easier and more likely to ensure your continued well-being if you don't go around and piss off all of your subordinates and colleagues and higher-ups, no matter how truthful you think you're being.

Aria's death and Yuni's disappearance made her learn how to 'blank' her expressions and close off emotional connections; she also feels an acute sense of grief and fear and guilt at their vanishment from her life, but since she doesn't know how to react to those feelings, she locks them up and avoids thinking about them, which just makes her bitter at always being seen as the 'unfavored' heiress and 'unrightful' Boss.

Repressing her feelings will probably bite her in the back eventually, but so far she's been doing a decent job at coping.

Again, ultra-pragmatic, and I'd think that an ultra-pragmatic and skilled Mist would be logical enough to neatly compartmentalize her mindscape.

(Fran's probably the only pragmatic Mist, though...

Maybe Mammon, when concerning how best to manage money?)

She loves Yuni in her own way, but with Yuni gone and yet still overshadowing her, love can easily turn to indifference or hatred. The fact that the Giglio Nero obviously preferred and continue to prefer Yuni as Boss still haunts her, and as a result she classifies them as not-family, but feels a strange sort of obligation to not doom them, because of Aria's love for the Giglio Nero and Fran's kinda-love for Aria.

And Gray Spell?

Well, she's honest, yeah, but she's also logical and pragmatic (as repeatedly rehashed), and has a sort of "if I'm going to do this I'm going to do this properly" attitude.

All about efficiency, see?

(Efficiency: Dislikes boring things, likes interesting things. Being efficient to get rid of boring stuff quickly, results in more free time to do interesting things. That's pretty much her reasoning.)

So when her 'Clairvoyance' shows her the huge rift between the two Spells, she doesn't want that.

(Plus, he/she always seemed to me as a very 'grey' sort of character: grey feelings, grey reactions, grey morals.

Gray.)

Aanndd…

Ramble is long.

And over.

* * *

_**Revised 5/22/15.**_

_**Added: Minor extra details, the flower description, the background info was shifted, everything's present tense now.**_

_**#**_

_**#**_

_**#**_

_**A few more chapters and we'll get to the Future Arc, where everything **__**really**__** starts to happen.**_

_**#**_

_**#**_

_**~Please Review.~**_

_**~I appreciate reviews like I-Pin appreciates Fon.~**_


	16. Observation

**Summary:**

_Fran's not dumb; she can tell she's only a replacement. She's Yuni's elder sister, but it was official that Yuni would be Boss after Aria died; it's clear everyone liked her kind, gracious and cheery attitude over Fran's indifferent, cold and cynical one. Yuni was the trusting, benevolent "Aria's daughter". Fran was the suspicious, bitter "spitting image of Aria's husband". She's even born with the "wrong" Flame; a strong primary Mist and a weak secondary Sky. But now that Yuni's vanished, Fran's the (grudging) Giglio Nero Boss, and will be the one meeting with Gesso. She's got a bad feeling about their Boss, though; Byakuran's intrigued by a Fran who differs from her parallel selves. Meanwhile, Yuni being gone has a greater significance than any of them realize. TYL!Fran, Fem!Fran, Very AU._

**Disclaimer:**

_KHR! rights go to Akira Amano._

_The cover picture is not mine. It belonged to an insanely talented deviantart artist who I have no way of contacting, so please don't sue me._

* * *

**Reviews:**

_Thank you, '__**ADDBaby**__', for your review. Why yes, yes they do. Pfft, and they say that high school doesn't teach you anything. There, you just learned a very important life lesson: politics is basically a petty exchange of insults. ;]_

_Thank you, '__**Kat**__', for your review. I actually try to reply to every single review. :] Yup, be expecting daily updates, until maybe a week later, when my school's track team starts up. In which case, I'll be half-dead by the time I get back, so it'll probably be updates every three or two days._

_Thank you, '__**Someonepassingby**__', for your review. Their first meeting will inevitably be tense, but I can probably fit in some humor there with Fran's blase attitude and casual insults. As for an AllxFran fanfic? No, not really. I do like reading Allx[insert character here] fanfics, but I can't think of a plausible way for Fran to do that. I prefer to write fluffy scenes with one decided pairing, so a somewhat realistic AllxFran is definitely not in my agenda anytime soon. I mean, if someone requested that for a 'prize' for a contest or something, maybe. :]_

_Thank you, '__**Cythoon**__', for your review. Sorry, no B26 here. There will definitely be interaction between them in the Future Arc, though. ;]_

_Thank you, '__**alai**__', for your review. I apologize for not replying to your review last chapter; I kinda forgot it in the midst of my huge ramble, a 'Study In Teal'. As always, I appreciate that you liked it, and keep reading!~ ]_

* * *

**Quotes:**

'_Mafioso have a short memory, it appears.' - Shoichi_

'_Humans were meant to be flawed. _Humanity_ was meant to be _flawed_. __**Civilization**__ was meant to be __**flawed**__. __The world itself __was meant to be fundamentally, irreversibly, uncontrollably __flawed__.'- Shoichi_

'_Which meant that Byakuran's 'perfect world' could only be achieved through everyone being controlled. Well. Not everyone. Because otherwise, who, oh _who_who__**who**__ would be the one controlling them?' - Shoichi_

'_/World domination?/ His younger self would've laughed. Oh, laugh away, laugh away. Laugh away until you see the carnage and the blood and the gore and the corpses and so much death__**dead**__dying_gone_. Then you sober and you startle but it's too-late__**too-late**__too-late_finished_.' - Shoichi_

'_Oh, he still smiled and laughed and joked and teased and ate those fluffy sugary diabetes-in-a-puffball.'- Shoichi_

"_First, I __**follow**__ no one. If you mean why I __**support **__Byakuran… that's a complicated answer. That is also none of your business." - Fran_

"_Loss of lives? It's just the most efficient way. And you know how much I value efficiency. I suppose I'm rather morally… _gray_. I don't endorse it, I don't warn it off. I simply. Don't. Care." - Fran_

'_If Byakuran was the type to elbow someone off of a cliff, than Fran was the type to watch from a helicopter and not bother to throw the person a rope, because she had no reason, no __**motivation**__ to. In other words, Byakuran was the one who'd light the world on fire to watch it burn, and Fran was the one drinking water off to the side and calmly ignoring the scorching inferno.' - Shoichi_

"_I'm as human as human can be. Which means I can be selfish, too, can't I?" - Fran_

* * *

Irie Shoichi wanted to be a good person.

He didn't know exactly _why_, but he had a pretty decent idea of _how_.

His Okaa-san had always told him that 'good little boys were nice and friendly; they didn't bully, and they prized their friends'.

Well, at the age of 5, and already declared a genius, Shoichi didn't have many friends.

He did try and be nice, be friendly, be not-a-bully, but that never seemed to work.

All the other children his age scorned him because of his brains and soft nature, and all the children mentally his age scorned him because of his young age.

Okaa-san wouldn't have wanted him to give up, though, and Tou-san would've been disappointed in him if he complained.

(/But they were dead now,/ a niggling, horrendous little voice in the back of his mind reminded him. /They were dead now, dead_dead__**dead**__**gone**_, so what did it matter? What did it matter what they would've thought, what they would've said?/)

So, today, after moving to a new town somewhere in Italy, he had a goal in mind.

Make a new friend.

That should be easy, right? He was a genius; he could do this.

And if all it took was surviving through another drearily dull year of schooling at fourth grade level with older kids who would probably ignore his existence, well…

Never let it be said that Irie Shoichi couldn't make sacrifices.

. . .

His goal of making a new friend had been accomplished.

On the very first day of school, too.

It hadn't even been forced or awkward (not too much, anyway).

Walking through the door, early, the first thing the nervous redhead had noticed was that there was another student already in the room.

A student his age.

A student with the strangest white hair and purple eyes that he'd ever seen.

A student who was sitting alone by the window, gazing out and absently kicking his legs back and forth.

Hesitating briefly, Shoichi timidly picked his way over to the boy, who had turned to assess him the moment he took his first step.

"E-erm, uh, i-is it okay i-if I sit h-here? U-um, next to you?" he squeaked out, managing to stand his ground under the unnervingly focused lavender eyes.

The boy blinked, and that seemed to break a trance. The lavender eyes closed into a happy crescent-eyed smile.

"Why not?"

Shoichi slid gingerly into the chair, and carefully laid out his school supplies.

Then he twisted to offer a minutely trembling hand to the white-haired boy (who had continued to stare at him intensely), smiling just as tremulously.

"U-um, I-I'm Irie Shoichi. I-I mean, Shoichi Irie. Sorry, I j-just moved from Japan, s-so I'm not completely familiar with Italian, y-yet."

The smile grew into a delighted grin and a decisive nod.

Another hand gripped his own firmly.

"And I'm Byakuran Gesso. Nice to meet you, Shoichi. We're going to be the best of friends."

A significant pause, and then a chuckle, like an inside-joke had just occurred to him.

"_I've seen it_ _happen_, _'Sho-chan'._"

. . .

Living in Italy (Italia, he reminded himself, it was no longer Italy but Italia) for the past five years hadn't been as bad as he feared it would be.

Being best friends with Gesso Byakuran, er, Byakuran Gesso, tends to guarantee that your life will be _anything_ except _boring_.

(And true to the prediction that Byakuran had uttered with such confidence that first day that they met, the two genius boys had indeed become best friends.)

Shoichi knew a lot of things about Byakuran now.

He knew he was rich, but didn't like being asked about his family and home.

He knew he liked marshmallows to the point of obsession, for reasons deeper than just sugar.

He knew he wasn't the kind of person to do things out of the goodness of his heart, which didn't make him any less of a friend.

Somewhere along the way of being dragged randomly around town, and sometimes even randomly around the country, on the very, very whimsical whims of Byakuran, Shoichi had come to trust him

Somewhat.

Not enough to blindly follow him without questioning his motives or his reasons or his end-game.

(He could tell that that wasn't the kind of person Byakuran wanted to be friends with, _true_ friends with, anyway.)

But enough that, when Byakuran turned to him one day when they were alone at the park, and declared with a quiet fiery resolve in his glinting amethyst eyes that he would change the world…

...Shoichi believed him, and pledged back that he would follow and support him.

"Are you ready for this, Sho-chan?"

Shoichi glanced with trepidation at his packed bags and the sleeping forms of the orphanage children.

Then he took in a stabilizing breath, pushed away the beginnings of a stomach-ache, and grasped the outstretched hand of a madly grinning white-haired boy whose eyes gleamed like demonic jewels in the moonlight.

"I'm ready, Byakuran. Let's go."

With an even wider grin, he was hauled up, up, up out of the orphanage window and away into the night, where two very small figures, bounding across the rooftops and balconies, cast long and flaring silhouettes like the trailing capes of a magician.

A disappearing act of a musician.

And with a leap and a lurch, a purple-eyed Peter Pan spirited away his green-eyed Wendy.

(A day later, a redheaded genius child was initiated into the Gesso. "Call me Shoichi Irie," he says.

"Call me Shoichi Irie.")

* * *

Shoichi Irie wished he was a good person.

It was hard, sometimes, in these years as a Gesso, to tell if he was or if he wasn't.

Did good people join the Mafia?

For their friends, maybe.

And he had done it for Byakuran.

So that made it okay.

Right?

Did good people engineer dangerous weapons and manufacture battle plans that would result in death, oh-so-much death_dead__**dying**__**gone**_?

For their friends, maybe.

And he had done it for Byakuran.

So that made it okay.

_Right?_

Did good people aid others in their plotting to create a perfect world with no regard for how they'd get there?

For their friends, maybe.

And he had done it for Byakuran.

So that made it okay.

**Right?**

Did good people hack into mainframes and steal information, research, money, and _lives_ in order to establish the 'base' needed to build up and dominate like planned?

For their friends, maybe.

And he had done it for Byakuran.

So that made it okay.

_**Right?**_

Did good people orchestrate an elaborate set-up to convince a key component of their plans to merge with them, and then feel a horrible, gnawing sensation of guilt and horror and what-have-I-done when they see the coldly triumphant eyes and the oddly blank eyes that were the fruits of their labor?

For their friends, maybe.

And he had done it for Byakuran.

So that made in okay.

… _**Right**_…**?**

("Sho-chan~," the white-haired boy calls merrily.

"Sho-chan~," the purple-eyed teen calls happily.

"Sho-chan~," the Millefiore adult calls warningly.)

* * *

'Sho-chan' gave up hope of being a good person.

When did it happen?

He couldn't pin it down exactly.

It most likely started (the doubts, that is) at the very beginning of the Millefiore.

Brume Frances, or Frances Brume, was easy enough to get along with, if a little eerily blank-faced at times.

Everything went smoothly at first.

As planned.

The merged Famiglias split off into three 'Spells', and were accordingly trained.

The Millefiore laid low and built up strength, through recruiting, long-term sleeper agents, training, and technological advances moving at incredible rates.

3 ½ years later, every member was thoroughly screened and approved (discreetly, of course) for loyalty, as well as equipped state-of-the-art weaponry and technology.

Those who could use Flames were gifted with the improved Flame Boots, and the really strong ones, at least B-rank, were allowed access to Rings and Boxes.

Apparently, that meant that the Millefiore's 'tutorial' period was over.

Time to officially 'start game'.

It was splashy, and unexpected.

How did Byakuran send out enough assassins for 30 high-profile kills over the span of merely 3 days?

A better question is, how did Byakuran do it without Shoichi being alerted, and _why_?

He _did_ call him in a day or so after, and inform him with a cheery smile (that was all still fake_fake__**fake**_ even if it was real-er than the ones he usually gave).

'_Oh, by the way, I've decided it's time to get active, Sho-chan.~ Millefiore can't just sit and fiddle their little fingers, after all.~ Prepare some battle plans and draw up a list of small-fry Famiglias that are specialized enough to take notice of, would you?'_

Well, of course he would.

And two years later, Shoichi cursed himself for doing so, as Millefiore, no, _Byakuran_, had somehow managed to arrange 'mergers' with all of those specialized Famiglias.

. . .

The Ragnatela Famiglia was one of the first ones to fall.

They weren't a threat to anyone, and were rather puny, too.

(Though, their fate should've been a neon-yellow 'Caution!' sign to all the other Famiglias.)

Their only redeeming and defining trait were their genetically modified and selectively bred arachnids that could spin water-proof, fire-proof, lightning-proof, Flame-proof, ultra-light and ultra-sturdy threads.

On a _completely_ unrelated note, they were also known for their 'ultimate defense' cloth and clothes, which were supposedly stronger than titanium while remaining flexible and breathable.

A month after their 'merger', all spots of authority in the Ragnatela were occupied by trusted Millefiore members.

All those loyal to the old Ragnatela, or who _were_ the old Ragnatela, simply upped and 'disappeared' one day.

A few days after the one-month mark, all Ragnatela properties were renamed as Millefiore properties, and every high-up Millefiore member received new uniforms, woven out of cloth that was suspiciously similar to the Ragnatela's trademark cloth.

A few more months, give or take, and every Millefiore member was walking around in the reinforced uniforms, with back-up copies (and if you were a captain, you could specially order clothes; also, only captains were given the much more 'premium' Flame-proof variations) to spare.

It was a familiar trend that Shoichi noticed with every single 'merger'; the 'merged' Famiglia was inevitably annexed and absorbed until they were forgotten.

Mafioso have a short memory, it appears.

. . .

One ½ years later, Shoichi regretted it even more.

He regretted helping Byakuran.

Inventing technology for Byakuran.

Managing the Millefiore into what it was today for Byakuran.

_Believing_ in Byakuran's dream of a perfect world.

At 22, he was no longer so optimistic.

Humans were meant to be flawed.

_Humanity_ was meant to be flawed.

_**Civilization **_was meant to be flawed.

_**The world itself**_ was meant to be fundamentally, irreversibly, uncontrollably _**flawed**_.

Which meant that Byakuran's 'perfect world' could only be achieved through everyone being controlled.

Well.

Not everyone.

Because otherwise, who, oh who_who__**who**_ would be the one controlling them?

Byakuran seemed to want to be the 'puppet master'.

And it chilled Shoichi's very bones to think that _he_ had been a major part in supporting him.

In supporting Millefiore.

Millefiore, which seemed to be unchanging from it's calm, idyllic daily routines of 4 ½ years ago.

Millefiore, which was slowly, subtly, but surely_surely__**surely**__**definitely**_ taking over the world.

( /World domination?/ His younger self would've laughed. Oh, laugh away, laugh away. Laugh away until you see the carnage and the blood and the gore and the corpses and so much death_dead__**dying**__**gone**_. Then you sober and you startle but it's too-late_too-late__**too-late**__**finished**_.

Or.

Maybe.

Just, just.

Maybe.

It's not.)

Through puppet-ing the governments of countries and often forceful takeovers, by the time the Mafia took notice of little, isolated, _weak _and _unnoteworthy_ Millefiore (which had sank back into obscurity after that first Chiavarone Halloween Ball that they'd attended)...

...By that time, Millefiore wasn't _little_, wasn't_ isolated_, wasn't _**weak**_ or _**unnoteworthy**_.

(No.

They weren't.

Not anymore.

And who says they were _ever_ little.

Or isolated.

Or weak.

Or unnoteworthy?)

But you know what chilled his very bones even more?

The reactions of Byakuran and Fran.

The reactions of his technically only superiors.

The reactions of the _Millefiore Bosses themselves_.

Byakuran?

Oh, he still smiled and laughed and joked and teased and ate those fluffy sugary diabetes-in-a-puffball, but his eyes were darker, frigid, and only seemed to lighten in either his presence or Fran's.

He was so much more ruthless than Shoichi remembered; or perhaps he had been viewing Byakuran, his _first friend_, through some rose-tinted lens of his own.

Would that 5 year old white-haired boy sitting by the window have had the cold-blooded guts and unapologetic cruelty to order 'entire demolitions' on Famiglias, going so far as to add a 'leave no witnesses, civilian status is void' note on mission files?

… Shoichi didn't linger too much on questions like those. Because whenever he recalled that too-old, too-experienced, too-jaded gaze of Byakuran's younger self, the answer always seemed to be a solid 'yes, yes he would'.

And Fran?

He'd actually asked her about it, once when she dropped by his private office for another weapon-upgrade and outfit 'customizations'.

. . .

"_What.. what do you think about the Millefiore, Fran-san? Why are you following Byakuran-san?"_

_Dull teal irises glanced up from her bo staff. "First, I __**follow**__ no one. If you mean why I __**support**__ Byakuran… that's a complicated answer. That is also none of your business. _

"_However, since you so rarely seem to ask any questions of me, much less such private questions, I'll give you a short explanation. _

"_I support Byakuran, because he promised me certain things that I'd like to keep or have. He also promised me that I'd never be bored again; or, at the very least, that if I stuck around, there'd be plenty of interesting things to see and do. Besides, I was… content with my position. _

"_There were no apparent downsides, either. Where would I have gone? No matter how low I laid, if he wanted to, Millefiore could track me down. It'd take time, but they'd find me. My 'Clairvoyance' ensures that much._

"_Millefiore? I assume you… disapprove of all of the 'mergers', government puppetry, and forceful takeovers. You seem like someone who would disapprove. Too morally right and ethically concerned._

"_Loss of lives? It's just the most efficient way. And you know how much I value efficiency. I suppose I'm rather morally… __gray__. I don't endorse it, I don't warn it off. I simply. Don't. __**Care**__."_

_She shrugged casually, and the wholly apathetic look in her eyes as she discussed death like she was discussing the weather scared him more than Byakuran's glimpses of madness did._

_Indifference, he thought, could be as deadly as malicion. If Byakuran was the type to elbow someone off of a cliff, than Fran was the type to watch from a helicopter and not bother to throw the person a rope, because she had no reason, no __**motivation**__ to._

_In other words, Byakuran was the one who'd light the world on fire to watch it burn, and Fran was the one drinking water off to the side and calmly ignoring the scorching inferno._

_Then the heavy-lidded boredom went away for a brief, brief flash._

"_Also," she admitted. "I'm as human as human can be. Which means I can be selfish, too, can't I? I wonder what you'd say if I told you that part of the reason I'm sticking around is because of… well, there's no point in telling you all that."_

_But even without words, Shoichi understood. _

_In fact, he understood probably more than anyone, even more than Byakuran and Fran themselves, about the strange attraction, the strange fascination between the two co-Bosses._

_After all…_

_That could have very well been him in another universe, in another world, in another life._

_. . ._

Still, he couldn't just _sit_ here in the Millefiore base and do _nothing_, _especially_ with the planned and wildly successful attack on the Vongola Headquarters having happened a week ago.

"Oy, Shoichi, are you just going to sit here in the Millefiore base and do nothing? C'mon, it's a HQ celebration for the 7th anniversary of the Millefiore, and the Vongola attack. Now that Vongola's nearly gone, there's hardly anyone left in the resistance. Or, well, anyone even _aware_ of the resistance. Millefiore controls global media, after all, so it's not like any of the civvies know what's going on. And if they do, there's always the 'clean-up crews', eh?"

A slightly tipsy, and thus much more talkative than usual Spanner was in the doorway of Shoichi's lab, a glass of champagne (probably spiked with hard alcohol by Iris) in hand.

The redhead smiled sheepishly at the blond, and finished writing his coded letter with a flourish, slipping the envelope into his locked drawer of his desk.

He stood up and stretched, before heading out of the room with his friend, walking towards the Dining Hall where the main festivities were.

(Not everyone was attending; the grunts and a few party-avoiders were on patrolling duty and security surveillance. Which was a pity, because everyone was waiting eagerly to find out if the Bosses would get finally get drunk. Considering that they hadn't even managed a 'buzz' the past seven years' worth of parties, it was highly unlikely. Still, imagining how a drunk Fran and Byakuran would act was a popular past-time and betting pool of the Millefiore members. It was also the leading cause of being assigned cleaning-duty for punishments.)

"Y-yeah, I guess I'll just have to post my letter later. Byakuran will probably be asking for me to attend…"

. . .

In the darkness of the drawer, a blank envelope rested.

Inside the envelope was a letter, written in neat calligraphy on finely printed paper.

The first paragraph went, _'To the Vongola Decimo, Sawada Tsunayoshi. My name is Irie Shoichi. I mean you no harm. Actually, I'm writing to you today, without the knowledge or consent of either Millefiore leader, to extend a tentative offer of alliance. I believe I can be of use to you. Why? Well, for starters, I don't exactly agree with Millefiore's way of doing things. All this death and destruction and decay is horrible and easily preventable; I fear that Byakuran will drive the world to ruin in his aim of creating a 'perfect' one...'_

_. . ._

Yes, 'Sho-chan' was not a good person, and he was not likely to ever be one.

But there was still a chance.

A chance for Shoichi Irie.

And Irie Shoichi.

* * *

_**#**_

_**#**_

_**#**_

_**Finally, a chapter from Shoichi's point of view, detailing how he feels about all of this. Nearly to the Future Arc, people~! :] Another time-skip, in case you didn't see. **_

_**Seriously, no one has any omake requests? The next omakes come at 50 reviews, which is getting close. Any requests, please state them before then~.**_

_**#**_

_**#**_

_**~Please Review.~**_

_**~I love reviews like Belphegor loves being princely and Rasiel loves being kingly and the two twins love killing each other.~**_

_**(~Ushishishi~...~Ushesheshe~...)**_


	17. Reiteration

**Summary:**

_Fran's not dumb; she can tell she's only a replacement. She's Yuni's elder sister, but it was official that Yuni would be Boss after Aria died; it's clear everyone liked her kind, gracious and cheery attitude over Fran's indifferent, cold and cynical one. Yuni was the trusting, benevolent "Aria's daughter". Fran was the suspicious, bitter "spitting image of Aria's husband". She's even born with the "wrong" Flame; a strong primary Mist and a weak secondary Sky. But now that Yuni's vanished, Fran's the (grudging) Giglio Nero Boss, and will be the one meeting with Gesso. She's got a bad feeling about their Boss, though; Byakuran's intrigued by a Fran who differs from her parallel selves. Meanwhile, Yuni being gone has a greater significance than any of them realize. TYL!Fran, Fem!Fran, Very AU._

**Disclaimer:**

_KHR! rights go to Akira Amano._

_The cover picture is not mine. It belonged to an insanely talented deviantart artist who I have no way of contacting, so please don't sue me._

* * *

**Reviews:**

_Thank you, '__**Cythooon**__', for your review. Well, if you're hoping for B26, I'm afraid you're out of luck. 'Replacement'-canon will be 10026, but I might do AU one-shot spin-offs. :]_

* * *

**Quotes:**

"_Silly little boy, thinking he could get away with plotting mutiny right under my nose~." - Byakuran_

"_It takes a genius to beat a genius." - Byakuran_

"_As for how much you should trust him… enough to talk to, but not enough to confide in." - Byakuran_

"_How you never manage to get any diabetes or cavities from all of those marshmallows you eat, is beyond natural comprehension." - Fran_

"_It's more like you stand by the window in order to get a 'nonchalantly intimidating' pose to impress upon the subordinates." - Fran_

"_Mou~, my dea-, er, misty black lily. My heart twinges at your hurtful, callous accusations, they truly do. Are you still in denial?" - Byakuran _

"_On another note, I can tell that you aren't here to simply enjoy my utterly delightful company; you never do, sadly, for reasons I cannot understand." - Byakuran_

"_No, no you possess no iota of consideration in any way, Byakuran." - Fran_

_"All under figurative titanium lock and DNA key and security lasers." - Byakuran_

* * *

"Shoichi's doubting. The plan, you, I, us, himself, Millefiore; all of it."

They were sitting, relaxed, in the Funeral Wreaths' base.

It was one of those days, a Saturday no less, where everything seemed to be running unusually smoothly.

The two Millefiore Bosses had quickly taken advantage of the circumstances in order to have a day off.

All the other Wreaths were out on missions, so they had the nearly empty base for themselves.

Unwinding in the living room with tea, snacks, idle chatter, and a game of Monopoly: Special High-Tech Millefiore Version constituted for one of those rare moments of leisure that they shared.

Byakuran didn't glance up from the table as he answered absently; he was concentrating intently on the game board.

"I rolled snake eyes, Francy-chan~. That's a +1 boost to every one of my stats, right? Oh, and I land on 'White Spell Control Center', so I'll buy that for 25 credits. Hmm~? What do you want me to do about Sho-chan~?"

Fran twitched her lips downwards and started peeling one of the apples in the fruit bowl with a tad more aggression than strictly necessary.

"Snake eyes only applies fully if you had a 'Gray Spell' property; otherwise, it's just a +½ boost to your top three stats. I've deducted 25 credits, and White Spell Control Center should be transferred to your properties list. Check the game pad. And you know very well what I'm asking here, Byakuran."

He hummed noncommittally. "Don't worry. I know all about Sho-chan. Unfortunately, I could tell right from the beginning that he'd never approve of my way of doing things. Silly little boy, thinking he could get away with plotting mutiny right under my nose~."

She sighed, but relented, tapping the glowing icon of dice on the game board. Clicking sounds occurred, before the icon lit up with a red '4' and '5'.

"That's 9 steps for me. 'Black Spell Training Room' is already one of my properties, so I don't have to do anything. End turn.

"Are you just going to sit and wait and let him do what he wants, then? My 'Clairvoyance' suggests that he's either cooperating with the Vongola Decimo, or will be soon. How far should we still trust him?

"I'm hard to read, but he's a genius; even if he doesn't see anything wrong right now, he'll definitely notice something's up if we slowly curb his freedoms and power."

Smiling innocently even as he bit viciously into a s'more, Byakuran looked wholly unworried. He lazily flapped his hand in a dismissive gesture.

"Maa, maa~. That's why we _don't_ do that, see, Francy-chan~? It takes a genius to beat a genius. You've got one of your 'drones' on him, right? So we'll treat him no differently than before, while we let him run unrestrained and keep an eye and an ear out for his scheming.

"Some more _confidential_ information will still be hidden, of course. Like the Funeral Wreaths and Mare Rings. Sho-chan will continue to be my Fake Sun Funeral Wreath, though.

"I'd also advise that you don't tell him anything more than you have to about your Box Animal and your skills. He's already familiar with your bo staff, which is unfortunate but not a tragic loss. I'll be sending him off to the Melone Base in Japan for the next few years, anyway."

His lavender eyes locked onto her teal ones, and he paused for a second.

"As for how much you should trust him… enough to talk to, but not enough to confide in."

Scoffing in return, Fran impatiently motioned for him to 'roll' the 'dice', and brushing off her unease. She swiftly snipped the last of the apple skin and crunched down on the fruit.

"I don't _confide_ in _anyone_."

Light-hearted once again, he chuckled and returned to the game board.

Byakuran replied jokingly.

"Aww, but I thought that you always confided in _me_, Francy-chan~?"

Fran twitched her lips up, almost imperceptibly, and reached to adjust her hat out of routine.

"Oh, shut up, Gesso. How you never manage to get any diabetes or cavities from all of those marshmallows you eat, is beyond natural comprehension."

He snickered and moved his game piece past 'GO'.

"You know you love me~."

(Or maybe not so jokingly, after all.)

* * *

A door slid open.

"Why is it that you are always standing by the window whenever I see you in your office?" Fran wondered aloud in a dry tone of voice.

Nevertheless, she made her way over to the figure in the White Spell uniform, her scepter going thump-thump-thump and her Flame Boots going tap-tap-tap.

Byakuran graciously accepted the matte red manila folder that she handed over, and began flipping through the papers inside, scanning over them with a practiced eye. "Because the horizon is always so beautifully inspiring to look at, my dear Francy-chan~. These are the finished 'demolition' missions?"

"It's more like you stand by the window in order to get a 'nonchalantly intimidating' pose to impress upon the subordinates," she disagreed. "Can't your 'omniscient' eyes and 'genius' logic comprehend that much? The folder's matte red; that always means 'complete demolition', and why would I give you back the missions that haven't been done yet?"

Fran stopped, and then added with the air of one who has said something many times before, "And don't call me 'my dear'. I'm not yours, nor am I a dear."

With a dramatic sigh and a hand laid theatrically on his chest, he affected a faux sorrowful expression.

"Mou~, my dea-, er, misty black lily. My heart _twinges_ at your hurtful, callous accusations, they truly do."

He paused and the smile briefly dipped into a smirk, as if sharing an inside joke.

"Ah, but you _are _a 'dear', Francy-chan~. Are you still in denial about your 'tsun-_dear' _nature? Also, I was just checking; you know better than anyone else that I'm not 'omniscient'. Seeing into parallel worlds is not a perfect art.

"It's tiring, it can't always be done, some worlds don't a parallel I can 'latch' onto for a connection, and what may be true in one world could be the exact opposite in this world, so contacting my parallels for information is eternally a risk.

"On another note, I can tell that you aren't here to simply enjoy my utterly delightful company; you never do, sadly, for reasons I cannot understand. You came for the weekly status discussion?"

"Well of course I came for the weekly status discussion. It should've been on your calendar to-do reminders. Unless you fired another managerial assistant?" She saw his sheepish smile and furrowed her brows slightly in disapproval.

"That's the 8th assistant you've fired this _season_. You've been going through them at the rate of roughly 3 per month. It's very inefficient of you; now _I'll _inevitably be stuck finding another assistant for you, taking up my time that could be spent doing something more worthwhile, and thus being even _more_ inefficient"

Byakuran perked up and gave a bright, reassuring grin. "No worries, Francy-chan~! I've already chosen a new assistant for myself~! Aren't I considerate?"

Unmoved, Fran merely leveled him with a deadpan stare. "No, no you possess _no _iota of consideration in any way, Byakuran. The fact that you've decided to take matters into your own hands, regarding the choice of an assistant, only cements the suspicion that you purposely fired your last one, _who I so carefully chose and screened for you._Who's the unlucky person, anyway?"

He pouted at her first sentence, but answered with a wink and a smile. "Leonardo Lippi, Francy-chan~."

A spark of interest zipped through her dulled eyes. "From the 6th Squad, White Spell Mughetto?"

"Yup, I'm thinking of calling him Leo-kun~. Why the sudden intrigue?"

"Don't try and deny that _you're_ intrigued, too. Why else would you personally request him as your assistant? The obvious reason is to keep an eye on him, of course. There's just something about him…

"My 'drones' haven't picked up anything strange, but then again they don't have any idea of if the way he's acting now is how he's always acting. What do you suspect? Infiltration? Possession? Voluntary, maybe?"

"No worries," he repeated, his eyes darkening to violet before reverting back to lavender. "I've got it all under control. All taken care of. Oh, by the way, you'll be moving base soon, right?"

* * *

Frowning mildly at the clear change of subject, she grudgingly obliged and went along.

"Mm-hmm. One of my visions shows a Varia attack and takeover attempt that'll be happening soon. The base I'll be moving to will still be in Italy, though, so if anything major happens and Millefiore needs two Bosses or you need all of the Funeral Wreaths, I'll be close enough to arrive in less than two days.

"I'll still be giving orders to the Gray Spell stationed here, in the main base, but I'll be taking a battle-ready squads with me. 5th Squad Odontoglossum, most likely.

"But I won't move until a week from now. The Vongola meeting, with the Decimo, will be happening tomorrow, right?"

"Tomorrow at one o'clock, in a neutral meeting area. Are you ready for the plan?"

"Of course I've prepared for my part; anything else would be an inefficient use of time and effort. Vi's briefed, too, and I've been keeping her in her Box to preserve Flames.

"That means that all the 'drones' are down, though, and they'll continue to be down in this base, since I'll be moving to another base. Keeping up the 'drones' in this base will be too much of an energy drain. The 'Mist Batteries' are purer if I fill them with my own Flames.

"I have a strong feeling that Shoichi will try to interfere with the plan, however."

"But that's why you'll be there to make sure that Tsunayoshi _is_ dead and _stays that way_, right? Sho-chan's transferring over to the Melone Base the day after tomorrow, too. Would it be too much of a drain to keep a 'drone' stationed on him?"

Fran lowered her lids and gnawed heavily on a guava hard candy that she 'materialized' from her hat (just like Byakuran miraculously 'materialized' his marshmallows from all over his uniform).

They were sure signs of her thinking over something deeply.

She finally let out a small huff, faintly frustrated and simultaneously apologetic.

"No, keeping it up all the way in Japan would kill my reserves in half a day. Even if that was the only 'drone' that I had Vi uphold. The distance is just too far, too much."

A sigh, now.

"Looks like things are really kicking into motion, huh? I'd better go pack and finalize my departing orders. Seven days isn't a lot to work with, and I'll probably be too wired tomorrow from the plan to get any rest."

She was halfway through the doorway when she hesitated and twisted around, wary.

"...You're definitely, positively sure that you've got it all under control?"

Byakuran smiled and turned back to the window, closing his eyes, and a glimmer of weariness with grimness momentarily surfacing.

He clasped his hands behind his back and gazed off into darkness.

"All under figurative titanium lock and DNA key and security lasers.

"Trust me, Fran. Trust me, I do. I _have_ to."

(And then, so quiet that the swing of the door cut it off, "Okay. Fine. I will.")

* * *

_**#**_

_**#**_

_**#**_

_**Le gasp!~ Tsuna's assassination is next!~ And you can probably guess now where Fran will meet the Varia.**_

_**The first scene in this chapter was shortly after the last chapter, around 7YL, when Fran and Byakuran and Shoichi are 22, and Tsuna's 21. The second and third scenes are 9YL, so Tsuna will be assassinated at 23. Future Arc will start at 9 and 10 months, like canon.**_

**_Still no omake requests... :[_**

**_Also, no comment on the 'Mese Famiglia' story idea I threw out there a few chapters back? No? None whatsoever?_**

**_Speaking of which, how would you guys feel about a Fem!Bel Semi-SI story? A tentative name: 'Slit'. By Semi-SI, I mean that it's like Bel grows up with these vague memories and accelerated knowledge from a past life. Don't worry; she won't know the KHR plot._**

_**#**_

_**#**_

_**~Please Review.~**_

_**~I love reviews more than Colonello loves Lal Mirch!~ 3**_


	18. Termination

**Summary:**

_Fran's not dumb; she can tell she's only a replacement. She's Yuni's elder sister, but it was official that Yuni would be Boss after Aria died; it's clear everyone liked her kind, gracious and cheery attitude over Fran's indifferent, cold and cynical one. Yuni was the trusting, benevolent "Aria's daughter". Fran was the suspicious, bitter "spitting image of Aria's husband". She's even born with the "wrong" Flame; a strong primary Mist and a weak secondary Sky. But now that Yuni's vanished, Fran's the (grudging) Giglio Nero Boss, and will be the one meeting with Gesso. She's got a bad feeling about their Boss, though; Byakuran's intrigued by a Fran who differs from her parallel selves. Meanwhile, Yuni being gone has a greater significance than any of them realize. TYL!Fran, Fem!Fran, Very AU._

**Disclaimer:**

_KHR! rights go to Akira Amano._

_The cover picture is not mine. It belonged to an insanely talented deviantart artist who I have no way of contacting, so please don't sue me._

* * *

**Reviews:**

_Thank you, '__**ADDBaby**__', for your review. Um… yeah… 'he will come back'... totally… *shifty eyes* _

_Thank you, '__**Caterina**__', for your review. I'll probably do the 'Sweets' prompt for the 50 review mark, and the other prompt I'll save for one of the later omakes._

_Thank you, '__**turtlehoffmann2251**__', for your review. Yup, 'Slit' will definitely be coming out soon._

_Thank you, '__**alai**__', for your review. The encouragement is appreciated~._

_Thank you, '__**Cythooon**__', for your review. 'Tipsy' will now be the second omake prompt for the 50 review mark. ;] And yes, that's really how it's supposed to be written. In books, when someone's speaking for a while and their words are separated into more than one paragraph, to signify that it's still the same person speaking and that it's still dialogue, you add start quotations at the beginning of every new line but you don't add the end quotations until it's actually the end._

* * *

**Quotes:**

"_We're calling it the White Round Time Machine. Because it's white, and round, and, as you can tell, a time machine." - Shoichi_

"_White Round Time Machine? Well, it's a good thing you two are genii at this science-y stuff, anyway. Don't quit your day job; coining catchy names doesn't appear to be cutting it for you two." - Fran_

"_But changing the future of one world for the better, even if it's only a possibility and not a guarantee… well, wouldn't you agree that that's that better than doing nothing at all?" - Shoichi_

'_...That was more of your sarcasm, wasn't it?' - Fran_

'_I assure you I haven't a smidgen of an idea of what you could possibly mean, Summoner.' - Vi_

'_Of course you don't.' - Fran_

"_I do not know how much longer they are going to take, because as you should see, I am also outside of the room with you. (Unfortunately.)" - Fran_

"_As for the supposed 'fishiness' that we exude, I can confidently state I shower and change regularly, and have not eaten any seafood recently. I cannot say the same for this warehouse." - Fran_

* * *

Shoichi was understandably nervous as he crept into Byakuran's office, with a handful of newly tested 'stasis' bullets in hand.

He'd hacked into the security cameras and had memorized Byakuran's typical daily schedule beforehand, so statistically, there was a very small chance of his discovery.

However, living in the Millefiore, or any decent Famiglia, really, teaches one quite early on to expect the unexpected.

One prime example?

Having the misfortune to bump into Fran as Shoichi came out of Byakuran's office, the deed done.

"... What were you doing in there? Byakuran should still be at lunch, last time I checked," Fran questioned tonelessly, tilting her head comically to convey the curiosity.

(Defying gravity itself, her hat did not fall off.)

Scrambling for an explanation, the redhead's genius mind went for the easiest and simplest one, with a fervent hope that Occam's Razor would kick in.

"Byakuran-san requested that I drop off a few files on the latest lab research, Fran-san," Shoichi replied smoothly.

A little _too_ smoothly, perhaps; Fran, who was used to his usual stuttering and stammering, narrowed her eyes in obvious suspicion. "Oh?"

He shrugged, suddenly glad that he'd thought beforehand to actually come up with a legitimate excuse in case he was caught switching out the bullets in the gun Byakuran planned to shoot the Decimo with.

If she decided to go see for herself, there would indeed be files on the latest lab research, resting innocuously on Byakuran's desk.

"You could go see for yourself," he suggested, pushing up the bridge of his glasses in a show of his familiar nervous tic. "It's just some updates on the timeline data."

Fran relaxed her narrowed stare. "I probably will later. Would you mind me tagging along to your labs to check out the progress? You could give me a briefing on the way."

Shoichi resisted the urge to chew his lower lip out of anxiety.

He was trapped, plain and clear.

There wasn't really a good reason for him to _refuse_ to show her the White Round Time Machine, and to refuse nonetheless would alert her that something was up.

And he couldn't have _that_, now could he?

Not so close to the Plan's start, anyway.

Not so close to Tsuna's assassination.

/Besides,/ he reminded himself as they strode together down the hallways, /Fran doesn't enough about mechanics to tell what the machine might actually be for. I'll be bringing the White Round Time Machine with me to the Melone Base, anyway, and Spanner will be coming with me, so he won't accidentally give anything away./

"Well, going off of the 10 Years Later Bazooka shells, manufactured by the Bovino Famiglia who were finally absorbed into the Millefiore a few months ago, I've made it a sort of pet project to create a time machine. Ideally, the time machine will be able to 'summon' people and maybe even objects from the past, as well as send people and maybe even objects _back_."

Shoichi flicked on the blinding fluorescent lights and gestured to a half-built, vaguely spherical white contraption. "This is the fruit of my-, er, _our_ labors so far."

"Our?" Fran repeated, stalking around the perimeter of the machine and peering critically at it, her scepter knocking against the bare concrete floor.

"Yes," he nodded in confirmation, "as in Spanner and I. He's quite good with machines, as you know, and he's been a great help so far. We're calling it the White Round Time Machine. Because it's white, and round, and, as you can tell, a time machine. Byakuran-san's given the go-ahead on it, and indeed seems very interested in where we go with it."

She stopped and quirked an eyebrow at him, an action that he interpreted as amusement from her. "White Round Time Machine? Well, it's a good thing you two are genii at this science-y stuff, anyway. Don't quit your day job; coining catchy names doesn't appear to be cutting it for you two."

Straightening up, she stretched slightly.

"You do know that true time travel doesn't exist, right? The Bovino's 10 Years Later Bazooka works by switching a person with a parallel of themselves from an world whose timeline is running 10 years faster than ours. Their history is the same up until the age at which they were shot with the Bazooka, but that's it. Then their timeline deviates from ours, which spawns the alternate universe.

"True time travel within our own world/timeline/universe is impossible, because it literally hasn't happened yet. At most, you'll be transported to a world containing a _possible_ future for yourself. Why else do you think people never reveal specifically what happens in the 'future'? Time paradoxes, of course, which are eliminated by traversing parallels.

"As for going to your own past, that action will also trigger the formation of a new reality. Just because someone decides to go to their childhood and maybe tell their younger self all about their 'future', doesn't mean that when they return to their own time they'll suddenly have new memories and their world will have changed.

"Instead, the moment they were sucked into the 'time and space vortex', a new world was formed to contain what changes they might make, purposely or accidentally. The 'parallel universes resolution' theory, in a nutshell."

Shoichi smiled grimly, speaking more to himself than to the other person in the room with him.

"That's true," he muttered honestly. "But changing the future of one world for the better, even if it's only a possibility and not a guarantee… well, wouldn't you agree that that's better than doing nothing at all?"

In the silence that followed, the redhead glanced up to find an impassive Fran staring directly at him with a strange, unreadable expression on her face.

"I don't know… I really don't know anymore," she murmured, and then departed without further notice.

* * *

Leaving Shoichi alone in his lab with what represented his hopes for the past and wishes for the future.

Gamma was worried.

Something was… _off_ about this whole Vongola-Millefiore meeting.

Something _horribly off_.

For starters, it was being held at a supposedly 'neutral' spot, which basically meant that it was just as dangerous for either side.

That 'neutral' spot turned out to be an abandoned warehouse by the coast of a small town in Italy.

/Like, wtf? If that doesn't just _scream_ 'cliche' and 'suspicious', I have no idea what _does_./

Millefiore had arrived by Flame Boots, in an entourage of Byakuran, the Decima (Fran), and himself.

Shoichi was supposed to come, but had stayed back at the main base, claiming he had made a major breakthrough on his research and couldn't leave it unattended at such a vulnerable stage.

/Am I the only one who saw how utterly unsurprised Byakuran looked? Well, Decima, too, but that's her default expression. And I still don't trust that white-haired marshmallow freak any more than I trust that creepy redhead with the glasses. What was his name? Grow Xinio? Geo Zania? Glo Xinia? He gave Tazaru and Nosaru bad vibes, also, so it's not just me./

Vongola had arrived by heavily armored limos, consisting of the Decimo, his Rain Guardian, and his Storm Guardian.

3 on 3, as arranged.

/Okay, so far so good./

Both groups had met in the deserted lobby.

Byakuran was smiling pleasantly and eating a marshmallow.

The Decima was gazing off to the side blankly and generally ignoring everything around her.

And he himself, Gamma, was standing slightly behind the two Bosses and keeping a vigilant eye on the Vongola.

Meanwhile, the Decimo, Tsunayoshi Sawada, was appearing composed and smiling just as pleasantly back at Byakuran.

His Rain Guardian, Takeshi Yamamoto, was also smiling, but with a sharper edge, and his right hand rested lightly on the hilt of his sword.

His Storm Guardian, Hayato Gokudera, was scowling fiercely at them and glaring, tensed.

/Then Byakuran just _had_ to open his infuriatingly grinning mouth and stir things up./

"So, _Tsuna-kun_, shall we enter the meeting room alone? Boss to Boss? My counterpart and co-Boss has already agreed to stay behind, in order to even up the numbers."

The silver-haired man immediately broke into protests and accusations of treachery.

Yamamoto didn't say anything, but his smile seemed sharper than before, and his grip on his sword hilt tightened.

Since Fran still appeared unperturbed, Gamma followed her lead and kept quiet, pretending that he'd been expecting this all along.

"Calm down, you guys," the Decimo reassured his Guardians with a placating motion of his hands. He turned to follow Byakuran. "I'll be fine. Stay outside and wait for me, alright? I'll be _fine_."

/Famous last words, Tsunayoshi Sawada./

Gamma glanced at the famed Vongola Decimo, and all he saw right there and then was a kind-hearted young man, too kind-hearted and young for being a Boss, or even a Mafioso.

All he saw right there and then was a kind-hearted young man with the understanding eyes of an equally kind-hearted young woman.

All he saw right there and then was a kind-hearted young man who acted and spoke and somehow even _looked_ just like what Yuni_Yuni__**Yuni**__**Aria**_ had acted and spoken and looked.

All he saw right there and then was a Sky preparing to march off for sacrifice, for the unknown, so similar to the two other Skies he'd lost.

And it broke his twice-shattered heart all over again.

He closed his eyes.

/Famous. Last. Words./

* * *

Fran was staring boredly at the wall.

It was an old wall, a concrete wall, cracked and peeling in some places and crumbling to dust in others.

Nothing interesting about it, no not really, nothing worth searching for.

But still, she considered it a much more efficient use of her time than staring boredly at the two increasingly fidgety Vongola Guardians in front of her.

/Is the drone in place?/

Vi, who was hiding _under_ her hat this time (with barely burning embers as her wings in order to not scorch any of the fabric; Fran was feeding her a thin, thin trickle of Mist Flames to keep her outside of her Box), answered with her usual unconcerned voice.

-Yes, Summoner. Drone #007 has been deployed, and is currently hidden in Byakuran's sleeve. The plan is going smoothly so far; I can hear through the drone that they have reached a stand-off. Phase 3 is likely to happen quite soon.-

/Are there actually 6 other drones, or is that another one of your allusions?/

-My apologies, Summoner. It was merely a reference to a rather well-known movie series. Please indulge my personality quirk gained from having a veritable computer database in my AI programming. Might I suggest that you watch it for your next 'movie night' with Byakuran?-

/...That was more of your sarcasm, wasn't it?/

-I assure you I haven't a smidgen of an idea of what you could possibly mean, Summoner.-

/Of course you don't./

Mentally scoffing, Fran tuned back in to reality when she realized that someone had addressed her. "Hmm?"

Looking annoyed, the silver-haired man that she recognized as the 10th Vongola Storm Guardian repeated himself.

"I _said_, how much longer are they going to take? What's Byakuran up to, anyway? You Millefiore and this farce of a meeting are decidedly fishy."

"I do not know how much longer they are going to take, because as you should see, I am also outside of the room with you. (Unfortunately.) Whatever runs through the mind of Byakuran is Byakuran's ideas and Byakuran's ideas only. No one really controls him," she replied blandly.

"As for the supposed 'fishiness' that we exude, I can confidently state I shower and change regularly, and have not eaten any seafood recently. I cannot say the same for this warehouse."

-Phase 3 has activated. Byakuran just shot the Target with a handgun, equipped with a silencer, as planned. Now carrying out Phase 4…-

Fran didn't appear to react externally, and shifted her gaze so that she was once again staring at the wall.

-Phase 4 reached. The drone is over the chest cavity of the Target, on skin. Reverting form in 3… 2… 1… Explosion successfully controlled. The Target's heart should be pierced and burned beyond repair; confirmation is not possible as visuals and audio have been terminated upon revertion. Mission complete. Save memories for later rewinding?-

/Yes./

-Save complete.-

The door to the meeting room opened, and Byakuran stepped out, still smiling pleasantly, as if he hadn't just murdered a man in cold blood.

Gokudera and Yamamoto could immediately sense something was wrong, and they hurried into the room to check on their Decimo.

"We should probably leave now," Byakuran said cheerfully, activating his Flame Boots.

Gamma appeared supremely confused, but hid it well and activated his Boots as well.

Fran nodded in confirmation, and rose into the air with them, Mist Flames wreathed and writhing beneath her feet.

The trio flew off and out of the warehouse, headed back to base, with two anguished roars of agony and rage echoing behind them.

/I have a feeling that the Millefiore won't be invited to the funeral./

* * *

_**#**_

_**#**_

_**#**_

_**Yup. That's right. I just did it.**_

_**I just killed off Tsuna.**_

_**Pleasedon'thurtmeitwasforagoodreason!**_

_**That reason being 10026.**_

_**Because let's face it, as long as the future Vongola exists, the future Millefiore will constantly be fighting against them.**_

_**Note: Look forward to 'Slit' soon, a Fem!Belphegor Semi-SI. It won't update as fast as 'Replacement', and 'Replacement' may start alternating updates with it or simply updating slower. **_

_**(Like, a few days instead of daily. Daily is a rather insane pace I won't be able to keep up once Track starts for me.)**_

_**#**_

_**#**_

_**~Please Review.~**_

_**~I love reviews more than Belphegor loves knives.~**_


	19. Intoxication

**Summary:**

_Fran's not dumb; she can tell she's only a replacement. She's Yuni's elder sister, but it was official that Yuni would be Boss after Aria died; it's clear everyone liked her kind, gracious and cheery attitude over Fran's indifferent, cold and cynical one. Yuni was the trusting, benevolent "Aria's daughter". Fran was the suspicious, bitter "spitting image of Aria's husband". She's even born with the "wrong" Flame; a strong primary Mist and a weak secondary Sky. But now that Yuni's vanished, Fran's the (grudging) Giglio Nero Boss, and will be the one meeting with Gesso. She's got a bad feeling about their Boss, though; Byakuran's intrigued by a Fran who differs from her parallel selves. Meanwhile, Yuni being gone has a greater significance than any of them realize. TYL!Fran, Fem!Fran, Very AU._

**Disclaimer:**

_KHR! rights go to Akira Amano._

_The cover picture is not mine. It belonged to an insanely talented deviantart artist who I have no way of contacting, so please don't sue me._

* * *

**Reviews:**

_Thank you, '__**Leez**_'_, for your review. Yup, I've been trying to show the more day-to-day, realistic organizing of Millefiore through Fran's much more down-to-earth and reasonable eyes (some might say pessimistic, but oh well). I'm lovin' the long review, though. :] And if that's what you're hoping for, well, stick around. I can't give plot spoilers, but… *hint-hint-nudge-nudge-wink-wink* _

_Thank you, '__**Kat**_'_, for your review. Relax and unwind with a cup of __Fran Copyrighted Tea and Cards__; all of your questions will be answered… soon. As in in the next two seconds. ;] But yeah, Future!Tsuna's really, truly dead-dead, and not just stasis-dead. Past!Vongola will still come, however. And Varia appears two chapters or so later. As for 10026… like I've said before in past review-replies, they have a very complicated relationship. _

_Currently, they're just kinda sliding into it, and they're basically dating already; just without, well, the 'dates'. It's kinda hard to date normally when you're both high-profile Mafia Bosses who run the risk of surprise assassinations wherever you go, no matter if you control the area or not. If you want 10026 Romance immediately, try reading 'Madness and Mayhem and Magic' if you haven't already._

_Thank you, '__**Caterina**_'_, for your review. Thanks for spotting the typo; it should be fixed now. :] Usually I proof-read it a couple of times after uploading, but I guess I missed it that time._

_Thank you, '__**vini8**_'_, for your review. Hoorah, another 10026 convert! (I mean, I __assume_ _that's what you meant by 'My ship!'.) _

* * *

**Quotes:**

"_See how nicely they mingle between Spells now? Now if only we didn't have to dope them up to drunkenness until they can't see straight in order to get that effect." - Fran_

"_I'll love Yuni; I already do. But I'll always love you, too. And that love won't diminish just because there are more people to love. The heart is a funny thing like that, Francy-sweets. It's the only thing that simply keeps expanding to keep up." - Aria_

* * *

**Omake 3 (Tipsy):**

"When will they learn that this plan of theirs to get us drunk won't work?" Byakuran wondered, gazing out across the veritable sea of Millefiore members partying in the Dining Hall-turned-ballroom.

Fran merely lifted a shoulder in a shrug, idly stirring the margarita she was on, and accepting another drink offered by one of their subordinates.

They were currently sitting on the Balcony, overlooking the 9th Annual Millefiore Anniversary party; Spanner had rigged up a few flashy strobe lights, and had graciously donated a fleet of Mini Moscas to man (or robot) the necessary stations.

There were DJ-ing Moscas, waitressing Moscas, drink-mixing Moscas, and even bouncer Moscas to escort out the drunk 'public nuisances' and to make sure none of the unfortunate members on guard-patrol duty left the base unattended.

As always, a betting pool of various topics had been set up by word-of-mouth.

Popular topics ranged from love lives to lack thereof, to embarrassing dares and more.

However, by far the most popular one was still the uncompleted task of, 'Get the Bosses drunk and film their reactions'.

(Last she checked, there was a pot of about $9k going on herself, and a pot of about $8.3k going on the less stoic Byakuran.)

(Upon hearing that, Fran had immediately made a note to downsize the pay of her captains; if they could afford to splurge so extravagantly on bets, than they could most certainly survive without overinflated paychecks.)

To do that, the general consensus seemed to be that if everyone offered a drink to them, sooner or later they would _have_ to get drunk eventually.

… Right?

Pfft, no.

That had also been their plan for the past 9 years, and it had never worked.

(Of course, at the very end, there weren't many conscious and coherent people left to remember how it didn't work.)

(You could, however, safely bet that the two Bosses _always_ had fresh blackmail on their subordinates the day after.)

As of now, Byakuran had finished his 15th drink, and was on his 16th.

Fran was nearly through her 13th drink, and had her next two drinks already lined up and ready.

And down on the designated 'dance floor', most of the Millefiore were well on their way to passing out.

"See how nicely they mingle between Spells now?" the tealette sighed, fiddling with the tiny paper umbrella in her empty pina colada. "Now if only we didn't have to dope them up to drunkenness until they can't see straight in order to get that effect."

Her counterpart hummed in agreement, knocking back another way-too-sugary marshmallow-vodka shot.

Then something occurred to him, and he twisted slightly until his head was angled towards his ally/girlfriend-in-denial.

"You know, it just struck me that we've never really asked each other how we never got even the mildest bit tipsy in front of the subordinates. So…?"

She looked thoughtful for a second, setting down her chilled strawberry slushy-drink that had inevitably been spiked with wine.

"Well…" Fran drawled slowly, steepling her fingers. "I suppose I simply have an insanely high alcohol tolerance. I'm just one of those rare people who are very hard to get drunk. Lucky me, I guess, what with the good genes from my parents and all. Apparently, Aria usually abstained from drink, but when she cut loose she could go on for _hours_.

"Plus, I've been sampling fine wines and champagnes from Italy and France ever since I was old enough to eat solid foods. It'd take a whole lot more hard alcohol before I even start feeling mildly tipsy. Yay for the gourmet Mafia diet, I suppose."

Byakuran chuckled slightly at the 'celebration' gestures that she lazily mimed. "For me, I've simply used a neat little trick that my mother showed me once."

He looked a bit wistful upon mentioning his mother, but soon moved on. "It's best for Suns, of course, but my Sky Flames are good enough at imitating the Sun Flames. All you have to do is circulate the Sun Flames around your system and 'burn off' or flush out all of the alcohol to prevent a build-up. Alcohol is technically a very shallow poison, after all."

They sat in silence for a while, content to lean back and sip their drinks.

Then Byakuran glanced at Fran, a smile creeping over his face. He leaned over and poked her hat; a surefire way to get her attention (and annoyance) at once. "Hey…"

Fran slid her gaze sideways at him, and narrowed her eyes. "Whenever you get that smile and that tone of voice, you're always up to something I'd most likely disapprove _heavily_ of, Byakuran."

"Aww, don't be like that, Francy-chan~. It's a good idea this time, for sure."

She reluctantly turned to fully meet his eyes.

Once he saw that he had her complete focus, Byakuran grinned wildly.

"How'd you like to to feel what getting drunk _really_ feels like? Let's make a pact; on the next Saturday, we'll meet and get sloshed. I promise to not do the 'circulating' trick."

Fran was about to refuse, so he tossed in an incentive.

"I'll give you a 'coupon' for a day free of me pestering you, redeemable at any time, anywhere. Deal?"

She hesitated, and then nodded.

"I'm going to regret this, but deal."

They shook on it.

. . .

Next Saturday, the two Bosses were locked in Byakuran's private office, with the excuse of an all-nighter to finish some paperwork and work out improved assignments for squads.

Countless bottles of various assorted alcoholic drinks later, both of them were well past tipsy.

Apparently, Fran was a very philosophical and utterly relaxed drunk, who used 'like' way more often than her regular self would ever tolerate.

It also had the side-effect of making her seem rather high.

"Have you ever, like, wondered what's the point of peanut butter? Like, like… it can't _really_ be a peanut, right? Because, like, peanuts are all… brown and, like round… and… and that kinda sounded racist right then. Ooh, and like crunchy and shelly, not Shelly-shelly, Shelly's in Florida, but like shelly-shelly, y'know?

"And butter's all… buttery and that stuff… and yellow-y… 'sunshine yellow, butter mellow,' am I right or what? And doesn't it, like, come from cows and stuff? So, like, unless cows ate lot of peanuts and churned out peanut milk to make peanut butter… wait, something doesn't seem right with that sentence… eh, whatever, YOLO and we're all gonna die anyway…"

Not that Byakuran was thinking clearly enough to be able to appreciate the comedic effect.

Since, well, a drunk Byakuran was a very emotional and mood-swingy Byakuran who seemed to enjoy spouting off tragic/romantic lines from Shakespearean plays.

(Which begs the question: when and where the heck did Byakuran read Shakespearean plays?)

" 'Who ever loved that loved not at first sight?' " He questioned, striking a 'classic hero' pose with a fist over his heart, and sparkles (subconscious illusions, maybe?) in his eyes, aimed in the direction of Fran.

"Like, everyone _not_ on Tinder and Facebook and Instagram, _duh_… and dude, what's with the freaking sparkles? Is this, like, a hallucination? -le gasp!- Maybe _life_ is a hallucination, and I'm not really Frances and you're not really Byakuran and this is just like that freaky 'Matrix' shit that Vi's always blabbing on about… think about it…"

Byakuran let out a cry, acting out an arrow pierced in his chest. He staggered and crumpled to the floor, before curling up into ball and rocking back and forth, sobbing. " 'Let me be boiled to death with melancholy,' 'for in that sleep of death what dreams may come'?"

Fran peered down on his shivering form with critical eyes devoid of sympathy, from her nest amid the mounds of cushions that she'd piled onto the couch.

"Tough luck, dude," she shrugged uncaringly, reaching down to pat his shoulder in a somewhat reassuring gesture.

"When you're dead, you're like, dead-dead, so _no_ dreams will come. Being boiled to death sounds painful, though… I wonder if it's better because it's being boiled with melancholy? Whoah, wait for a second… isn't melancholy, like, all cold and drizzly and shit? How can you boil it, then? Oh, hey, is it like how that watery blue fire burns, even though 'rain' can't be burned? But I think I've heard of people burning water before…"

Okay, strike that.

Not reassuring at all.

At least, judging by the way that Byakuran only curled up tighter and started bawling instead of merely sobbing.

. . .

The next morning, Fran was unfortunate enough to finally experience what a hang-over felt like.

She promptly swallowed down the pain, went into her mindscape, and locked up the mental manifestation of the hang-over.

There, problem solved.

(Illusionist: Infinity + 1, Everyone Else: Who cares?)

When Byakuran woke up, he jolted his Sky-Sun Flames through his body and soon shrunk his migraine down to a niggling uncomfortableness.

He sat up ( /wait why am I on the floor?/ ) and spotted Fran busy deleting something on his computer.

She saw him looking, and curtly nodded in acknowledgement.

"I just finished erasing the footage of last night," Fran explained. "Nothing bad happened, don't worry; it was just embarrassing and a process that we should never, ever repeat again. Bye now."

And she left.

Byakuran quirked an eyebrow at that, but got up and stretched.

"Well, if she _said_ there was nothing bad… why do I feel like I should be speaking in Old English right now?"

* * *

**Omake 4 (Sweets Part 1 [Fran]):**

Byakuran had asked Fran many, many times about her choice in food.

More specifically, why she liked those guava hard candies of hers so much.

Fran would always give a one-shouldered shrug and change the topic, still gnawing away on her signature sweet.

But on the inside… she'd remember and recall, with a twinge of an unidentifiable feeling.

. . .

_A much younger Frances, still a toddler, lay curled up silently in her bed._

_The bedroom door slid open._

_Fran scrunched her eyes together tighter, blocking out the light._

_She couldn't, however, block out the nearly muffled noises of footsteps on the thickly carpeted floor._

_A weight sank onto her sheets, by her chubby baby-fat legs._

"_Francy-sweets…" _

_Light fingers began tracing abstract, nonsensical designs on Fran's back. _

"_What's wrong, Francy-sweets? You can tell Mamma, you know. Mamma will always listen."_

_She didn't reply._

_The woman sighed, leaden with regrets and sorrow and apologetic pleads. _

_A gentle nudge, a warm hug, a persistent prodding at her cheek._

_Fran tried to resist, but cracked a smile and turned over to peer up at her mother with bleary eyes._

_The smile, as rare as it was, quickly vanished as she spoke her reply in a factual, matter-of-fact manner._

"_The other kids and adults were talking about Papa again."_

_Aria sighed again, and cuddled her closer._

"_Francy-sweets, nothing I say can make losing your Papa better. He was a good man, a great husband, and a fantastic illusionist who got unlucky on a mission and was sniped. Everyone else might put you down for that, might ridicule and tease you for not having a Papa anymore, but just remember: You still have a Mamma, don't you?"_

_She dragged Fran's hand and laid her small fingers flat on the bulge in her stomach. _

_Smiling softly, lovingly, and directly at her stubbornly adorable daughter, Aria continued, "And soon, Francy-sweets, you'll have a sister to cherish like I cherish you."_

_The tiny body under the covers stiffened._

_Pretending to ignore it, the Giglio Nero Boss plowed onwards._

"_That's also what this is about, isn't it? Let me guess: the other kids and adults were talking about little Yuni about to replace you?"_

_Fran shifted, letting Aria know that she'd hit it right on the mark. _

"_Francy-sweets, that will __**never**_ _happen. No one can just replace someone else; we're all uniquely __**us**__, and that can't be copied. Even a genetically identical clone would be different, because upbringing and environment affects someone's personality just as much as DNA and parentage does. I'll love Yuni; I already do. But I'll always love you, too. And that love won't diminish just because there are more people to love. The heart is a funny thing like that, Francy-sweets. It's the only thing that simply keeps expanding to keep up."_

_A silence._

_Then, gingerly, tentatively, Fran patted the stomach bulge carefully, and stretched out her other hand._

"_Promise, Mamma?"_

_Aria smiled and pressed a guava hard candy into the hand._

"_I promise, Francy-sweets. I promise by the sweets that look just like your beautiful teal eyes, daughter of mine."_

_The toddler glanced down at the hard candy and scrunched up her nose._

"_That's a horrible pun, Mamma. And it isn't an exact match."_

_She laughed and hugged her again._

"_I know," Aria whispered into Fran's ear, her eyes closed. _

"_I know, but it's close enough, isn't it? And that's what counts, right?"_

_Fran clenched her fist firmly around the candy and bobbed her head , unintentionally cute._

_She still didn't think it looked just like her eyes, but if it made Mamma happy…_

… _Well… _

… _Fran supposed that she could deal with inaccuracies this one time._

. . .  
Alone in her bedroom, now stationed in Millefiore, the tealette flopped backwards onto her bed and stared up at the ceiling, holding a piece of unwrapped guava hard candy into the air to inspect.

"But you didn't keep your promise, did you, Mamma?" she wondered aloud.

Fran let the hand holding the candy fall limp and splay across the covers, shutting her eyelids.

"You didn't keep your promise. Because you left me.

"Just like Papa.

"And just like…

"... Yuni."

* * *

_**#**_

_**#**_

_**#**_

_**You get some ridiculously long omakes here, because my mind is out of inspiration for the next chapter. Don't worry, the next chapter will have Future Arc start, though of course Fran won't be interacting directly with the Vongola gang for a while.**_

_**On another note, 'Slit' is now up, so go check it out if you're interested! :]**_

_**#**_

_**#**_

_**~Please Review.~**_

_**~I love reviews more than Mukuro loves trolling everyone.~**_

_**(Because let's face it, that's basically what he does the entire time.)**_


	20. Acceleration

**Summary:**

_Fran's not blind, and Fran's not deaf; she can tell she's only a replacement. Yuni was the trusting, benevolent "Aria's daughter". Fran was the suspicious, bitter "spitting image of that-guy-who-married-Aria". She's even born with the "wrong" Flame; a strong primary Mist and a weak secondary Sky. But now that Yuni's vanished, Fran's the (grudging) Giglio Nero Boss. Byakuran's intrigued by a Fran who differs so drastically from her parallel selves. Meanwhile, Yuni being gone has a greater significance than any of them realize._

**Disclaimer:**

_KHR! rights go to Akira Amano._

_The cover picture may or may not be mine, depending on which one I'm using. I tend to switch frequently. In case it isn't mine, then this is a general disclaimer for that. So, yeah. Don't sue me, please._

**Note:**

_/insert words here/ are thoughts._

_Assume__ that they are speaking Italian unless otherwise stated or implied. Fran is canon-ly French, so her father here is French, and she is fluent in it. When stressed and cursing, whether out loud or mentally, she has a tendency to slip and slide back into French. __So, congratulation, you will probably be picking up an assortment of French profanity._

* * *

**Reviews:**

_Thank you, '__**ADDBaby**_'_, for your review. Because that's just how I roll. ;] Didn't I say that I seemed to lean towards angst? And yes, I am actually Reborn's second lover's half-sister's neighor's hairdresser's cat's groomer's second-cousin nineteen-and-a-half-times-removed. -Le Gasp!- You have foiled my major infiltration plan to slowly take over the world! Oh, wait, no, that part's from me being Byakuran's father's aunt's great-grand-daughter's best friend's stepfather's eighteenth-cousin thrice-removed. :0_

_Thank you, '__**Lianna**_'_, for your review. I'm glad you appreciate the trade-off. One can't have all of their OTPs and fave charries in the world, sadly. :[_

* * *

_~Poisoners in the Mafia make it their business to know everything and anything they can get their hands on. Having good knowledge beforehand can decide how a mission ends: does the target eat here at a certain time, does the target have any allergic reactions, does the target lower their guard around seemingly harmless objects, etc.? Knowing their ingredients is an important part, too. Certain animals have incurable natural poisons that are worth double their weight in gold to a competent poisoner who can see the value in something like that. Plants usually don't incur such extreme reactions, but when extracts are properly mixed and prepared, lethal and painful poisonings can be easily arranged, which is why master poisoners, who can afford to settle down, always have their own private garden of deadly little wonders._

_Bells of__ Ireland is a plant more known for it's showy cup-like green calyxes than it is known for it's tiny, thickly-scented white flowers. Native to Turkey, Syria, and Caucasus, Bells of Ireland is also known as the shellflower, because of the distinctive green-yellow blooms._

_It can be analyzed to mean **good luck**.~_

* * *

"And do you know how hard it is to hire decent Mafia therapists nowadays? Very hard, that's how. Because face it: all the actually sane and competent therapists wouldn't touch a Mafioso case with a thousand-foot pole." - General

* * *

Fran relaxes, sinking under the sudsy foam bubbling up on top of the bath water.

/_Ah, one of the perks of handling the stressful duties of a Boss; you can always unwind in your private bathroom and temporarily delegate for a break._/

Lazily summoning her personal phone from across the room with a Solid Illusion of a messenger bird, the tealette let the tension from her shoulders seep out, as she diales in a string of numbers.

Flicking 'Speakerphone' to 'On', she sets the slim device on the marble counter rimming the sunken bathtub and closes her eyes peacefully.

Soon enough, the sound of someone picking up rings out from the screen.

"Helloooooo~?"

"It's Fran, Byakuran. Identification code: swirl-loop-twist-marshmallow-drakonfly. And I'm the only one who should know this phone number."

He laughs, the high-def speakers ensuring realistic noise.

"True, true, Francy-chan. So what're you calling for? Or have you finally succumbed to my charms and called to profess a declaration of your eternal undying love?"

"Please don't make me gag; it'd be a terrible waste of a perfectly good bath if I threw up from disgust.

"Anyway, I just need an update on the Millefiore. This base is doing fine; the expected Varia ambush hasn't happened yet. Soon, probably.

"Anything I should know? What was that alert for, yesterday? Did the Moscas really spot new Rings?

"My Clairvoyance has been murky since yesterday; it's rather puzzling, as if something which shouldn't be in this world is throwing off the scrying. Whatever it is, don't count on my Clairvoyance being any great help until I can figure out if it can be fixed. Probably not, though. Clairvoyance is an ability that doesn't react well to interference by mortals, so it would be for the best if I simply waited it out."

"That is a bit worrying, but we can do without Clairvoyance. Might even be better for a change; going without it for a while can teach us not to depend on it. Our plans can progress smoothly without it, anyway. There's very little resistance left, and it's only a matter of time until Millefiore rules.

"It's highly infuriating that Tsunayoshi-kun chose to destroy the Rings, true, and it _did_ throw off the Tri-Ni-Set, but puppeting governments and slowly revolutionizing the world will work just as well, only far slower than I'd hoped for. Ah, well, the future can wait a bit longer.

"For the update, nothing really comes to mind. Oh, and we're not quite certain on the Ring status, yet. It could've been a glitch, to throw us off. Some Black Spell Rosa were just sent over to check it out, and track down the last of the Decimo's civilian acquaintances. They should be arriving in Japan… any moment now. I'm waiting for their check-in report."

"Tazaru and Nosaru?"

"If you mean the dark guy with the blond hair and the pink-haired girl-guy who calls him and Gamma 'bro', then yes."

"Those descriptions are… very accurate, actually. Huh, it seems that my honesty has rubbed off on you."

"Your 'honesty' is just another word for your 'snarkiness'. But yes, I believe it has. Oh noes, you have infected me~!"

Fran quirks an involuntary half-smile at her counterpart's mock tone of horror when dramatically exclaiming the last sentence.

"Aha! You're smiling right now, aren't you, Francy-chan~?"

She quickly stifles the smile, resolutely squashing it down.

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are. Or, you were. You definitely were. I can tell."

"Stalker."

"Not a stalker, just a familiar friend~!"

"... That sounded so much creepier than you usually are. Wow. Congrats. You have officially reached a new level of 'disturbing'. I think I'll dub it 'Level Byakuran'."

"Aww, don't be so deadpan with me again~! I thought we were past that stage! Don't you love me, Francy-chan~?"

"Oh, shut up. We will never be past that stage. If we ever are, I'm quite probably delirious, and I'd thank you to put me out of my misery. Anything else new in the Millefiore news?"

"Don't think that I didn't notice that you didn't flat-out deny your passionate adoration of me~."

"I'm _so_ hanging up now."

"Come on, come on, no need to deny the obvious, tsundere/kuudere-"

Fran reaches over and smartly taps the 'End Call' button.

(And _no_ that wasn't a _faint-barely-there-almost-invisible_ dusting of pink on her usually pale, pale skin.

Because _Frances Brume_ did _**not**_ _blush_.

… _Seriously, she doesn't_.

[As Byakuran would say, "Denial's not just a river in Egypt, you know.]

[And as Fran would say, "... You saw nothing. Nothing. And if you say anything otherwise, I will sic the best Millefiore lawyers after you for misrepresentation and defaming."] )

* * *

The next time Fran contacts the Millefiore Main Base, or rather, the next time the Millefiore Main Base contacts her, it isn't under as light-hearted circumstances.

/_Of course, Byakuran's just smiling away up there like it's not his problem at all,_/ she thinks with a mental eye-roll.

She's seated in the 'Transmissions Room' of the minor Italy Base she's currently supervising (well, 'staking out' is a more accurate term, but the rest of the Millefiore didn't know that; they just assumed that she'd left for an undisclosed base in order to prevent double-assassinations at the Main Base, and to 'take on a lighter workload' because of 'stress problems'), staring apathetically at the large screen affixed to the wall in front of her.

In the Main Base's meeting room, whichever meeting room it is, Fran's undoubtedly shown as a hologram-capsule.

From her point of view right now, however, it's as if she's seated in her regular spot as the 1st Squad Commander and co-Boss.

Watching with cataloging eyes, observations are made of the captains filing inside.

(Unfortunately, Vi isn't there with her to provide extra information and record the proceedings. Fran had laced the entire base with drones, ordered to trigger upon sight of intruders and alert her, as well as provide shallow surveillance. It's taxing on her reserves, but not as heavily as it had been to constantly cover the main base.

But to conserve Mist Flames, Fran had taken to allowing Vi free reign around the base; she serves as the "hive mind" still, but is also a handy pair of eyes and ears with much more capability for intelligent thought and adaption than the relatively free-will restricted drones.

Vi always watches over her as she sleeps, naturally, as a nearly fool-proof added security precaution.

You know what they say: the paranoid are the ones who live to see the light of day.

Or maybe that's just what Fran says.)

A cordial, if somewhat abrupt nod is offered to Byakuran and Shoichi, who are already there.

Byakuran gives a lopsided smile back, and Shoichi nods respectfully in return.

Many of the captains, as their eyes pass over her hologram, also offer respectful nods of their own.

One of the more impatient Black Spell captains, a bald man with a bushy mustache, speaks up.

"Boss, please tell us why you've called a meeting with all seventeen squad captains after all this time. No disrespect intended, but Decima is always the one to call full meetings regularly, and even those began lessening as most of the captains gave up and simply submit monthly reports in writing."

"Hold on, hold on. Not everyone's here," Byakuran reprimands, an 'ah-ah-ah~' tone flavoring his words, as he points to one of the empty chairs, off to the side.

The captain looks briefly at the chair, obediently, before shouldering on.

"But you _could_ tell us why you called us before we begin."

At that moment, the chair retracts, lowering down into one of the floor levels below.

It rises back up again a few seconds later, carrying a vaguely European, moderately pretty, serene young woman, clothed in a Gray Spell uniform with a '5' stitched onto her sleeves.

She's also wearing an oversized lab coat over her uniform, one that's liberally splattered with suspiciously dark stains and a few brighter, scarlet droplets.

"You're late, Marie-Anne," Fran comments in an off-hand manner, casually examining her nails.

The Head of Interrogation, and the Squad 5 Gray Spell Odontoglossum Captain bows formally to her Spell Commander, smoothly stripping off the dirty jacket and dropping it carelessly onto the floor.

"I apologize for this oversight, Boss Fran. I was… _caught up_ in a delightful little _talk_ with some rather stubborn _guests_. However, Level 6 prisoner and suspected turncoat #00723 is now a confirmed turncoat, and has been disposed of accordingly."

Marie-Anne has a rather eerie smile as she explains; the other captains shift uncomfortably.

Fran merely nods in acknowledgement of her subordinate's report, knowing quite well what the gruesomely creative torture specialist meant.

Taking that signal as the end of the little 'drama', Byakuran moves on with a pleasant smile, his eyes creasing up into crescents again.

"Well then, let's get started."

* * *

He turns to the hologram of Shoichi.

"There's a report from Sho-chan, who is in Japan right now."

Fran notes, with a mild stirring of amusement, that the redhead lets out a short sigh and looks downwards with closed eyes, before raising his head again and speaking.

/_Dealing with Byakuran on a day-to-day basis, especially if he decides to dub you with a ridiculously affectionate nickname, can do that to a person._/

"I'm Irie of the Japanese Branch. I'm sending my reports about the events in Japan to your info pads right now."

Skimming only briefly over her mandatorily assigned info-pad, Fran opts to read the newly received file more thoroughly at a later time, and instead refocuses imperturbably on the still speaking hologram.

You can learn a lot about what someone's thinking by watching their expressions and listening to their tone inflections.

(Why else do you think Fran decides to close off and adopt a blanked face so young?

It is easier to deal with, to _cope_ with soft jibes and concealed derision if the provokers can't see her reactions.

And if it freaks them out?

Well.

So much the better, right?)

"This report is from myself and the Third Squad's Captain Gamma, who could not be here today."

Various cries of disbelief and incredulity come from the other captains in attendance, who have clearly decided to read the file now.

"Th-this is-!"

Out of them all, only Shoichi remains calm, Fran remains indifferent, and Byakuran remains smiling.

/_Byakuran knows something,_/ she determines instantly, after taking a glance at his open-eyed smile that verges on smirking.

"I-I can't believe it," the mustached captain mutters.

"However, Captain Gamma's report, coupled with Captain Irie's report, makes it more reliable," another Black Spell captain argues.

"I'm sure that he would not summon all seventeen squad captains as a practical joke," agrees a few others. "However, this is a little…"

"Unbelievable," finishes the mustached captain. "The Vongola Family from the past, travelling to our time…"

Byakuran, who had closed his eyes again, straightens up and opens them.

"It was possible because Sho-chan put a lot of work into it. He spent a lot of time researching the Ten-Year Bazooka."

"The Ten-Year Bazooka!?" a Black Spell captain echoes with disbelief.

The mustached captain leans forward, intrigued. "The Ten-Year Bazooka that's been passed through that hick Bovino Family?"

"Impossible! That is just a legendary, fictitious weapon," declares a Black Spell captain's hologram.

"Are you questioning your Bosses' words? And for that matter, are you questioning our decision to 'merge' with that so-called 'hick Bovino Family'?" Fran wonders aloud, 'accidentally'.

They all look appropriately horrified and subdued at that 'innocuous' inquiry.

_Everyone_ knows what happened to _traitors_ and '_turncoats_', after all.

Many nervous gazes are slid sideways to glimpse Marie-Anne.

Marie-Anne, who is renown for her fierce admiration and dedication to her Spell Commander, despite her former Gesso allegiance, blinks innocently.

(The image of her in that blood-stained lab coat, still blinking innocently and giggling cheerfully as she ruthlessly dissects someone alive, ignoring their screams and pleas for mercy, instead taking a brush slathered in lemon juice and carefully, delicately, a macabre parody of gentleness, she begins to paint over their open wounds…

There's a _reason_ she's Head of Interrogation, and let's leave it at that, or else Human Resources will be flooded with requests for therapy again.)

(And do you _know_ how _hard_ it is to hire decent Mafia therapists nowadays?

_Very_ hard, that's how.

Because let's face it: all the actually sane and competent therapists won't touch a Mafioso case with a thousand-foot pole.)

Byakuran pipes up not-so-helpfully. "The Vongola Will Bullets were thought to be just legends as well."

"But…" the mustached captain protests feebly.

He bulldozes over it. "And the boxes were just fictional until just recently. They were fables."

* * *

A squinty-eyed Black Spell captain grumbles and points out, "But still, even if we accept all this as fact, there are other points that are hard to swallow. Boss, why did you leave such an important issue in the hands of so few? And those few are members of White Spell."

"Did you not tell us Black Spell members because we are originally from two different Famiglias?" voices a pudgy Black Spell captain hologram.

An older Black Spell captain speaks up in support. "We, the Black Spell, were originally the Giglio Nero Famiglia, which centered around Fran-sama, the Decima. While the White Spell were members of Byakuran's new and energetic Gesso Famiglia. The two combined and became the Millefiore Famiglia, but you still…"

"Does the Boss intend to create a split amongst us?" the squinty-eyed captain asks with slight anger, askance.

"Please do not forget that the Giglio Nero Famiglia has a history that is equal to the Vongola's," agrees another Black Spell captain.

Suddenly, Marie-Anne rears up and slams her left fist onto the table, eyes narrowing in steely fury.

"How _dare_ you question Boss Fran!" she growls, clearly enraged. "She was once your Decima; she is _still_ your Decima! Do you not respect her decisions and choices at _all?_ Do you not respect her _judgement?_ Or are you implying that only _Byakuran-sama_ has ruling power? _Is this __**mutiny**_**_!?_**

"And what about the _Gray_ Spell, huh? I hear you all spouting off about _Black_ Spell and _White_ Spell, or rather, I hear only the _Black_ Spell spouting off while the _White_ Spell make no move to defend themselves. This could be classified as Grade A charges of insubordination-!"

"Enough, Marie-Anne," Fran cuts her off flatly.

At once meek and subservient, the woman bows deeply in apology her Spell Commander, and settles back into her chair, still shooting heated glares at the captains not of the Gray Spell.

Fran scans the room; most of the Black and White Spell captains had inched away, terrified of the Squad 5 captain.

Like mice too bold for their nonexistent britches, suddenly relearning how to fear the bipolar cat.

Sighing, she gives her obligatory reconciliation speech.

"Look," she shrugs blandly, "I won't pretend to understand completely what you guys feel. Nevertheless, no matter how 'wronged' you may insist you are, that doesn't excuse the whole uproar. What, do the Gray Spell mean _nothing_ to you guys? Are you really all that blinded by prejudice and Famiglia lines?"

She swivels to focus on the Gray Spell captains, who look rather bewildered at her sudden attention.

"And _you_ guys… just because you are meant to be neutral doesn't mean you're the bystanders. What have I been teaching and preaching to you all for the past 10 years, give or take a few months? Has it really been that inefficient in getting drilled into your heads? _Peace-keeping_ and _intervention_. _Forcible_ intervention if needed. Marie-Anne's the only one who spoke up during that hubbub; if you don't make your presence known and _do_ something, you're _worse_ than useless. Why? Because you _wouldn't_ be useless if you had _done_ something, but you _didn't_."

Pausing to think, and taking her placid gaze off of the appropriately chastised Gray Spell, Fran adds, "And if that happens again, I'm slapping all of you Black Spells with a Level 1 insubordination, all of you White Spells with a Level 1 failure to speak up, and all of you Gray Spells with a Level 1 failure to intervene, and carting you off to Marie-Anne to do as she pleases."

Marie-Anne obediently waggles her fingers in a mocking wave at the paling captains, sunshine and rainbows and enough-glitter-to-choke-a-man-to-death once more.

"That's that, I guess. Over and out to you, Byakuran," Fran flops languidly onto her chair, sinking into the cushions with a lethargic laziness that fooled no one.

(Even the deadliest vipers on Earth coil up with lethargic laziness before striking with one swift, decisive, life-ending motion.

And although not everyone has been privileged enough to witness their female Boss's Box Animal first-hand, or even know what it is, _everyone_ has heard rumors about untraceable explosions resulting in sudden, violent, messy deaths.

The fact that she _always_ seems to know exactly what everyone has said, done, and been doesn't help the rumors the slightest bit.)

* * *

Byakuran picks up from where Marie-Anne took over. "That wasn't really my intention, but you'll understand if you see the situation. If I had told you about time travel, you wouldn't have believed me. I was going to tell you as soon as I got some reliable information."

/_Would you really have?_/ Fran muses, keeping on an impassive mask. /_**I** only knew because of the snippets my Clairvoyance can reliably show, and because Byakuran often hinted at it. Never directly, no. Not once. Just hints and vague insinuations._/

"There is still something we do not know," interjects a Black Spell captain's hologram. "Why use this technology on the _Vongola_, the ones we're _hunting?_"

"It's not enough to kill them off _once?_" another Black Spell captain says.

"You just don't get it," a mirthfully malicious tone of voice sneers.

Fran resists the urge to shut off her hologram at once and give up the meeting as a doomed case.

/_Glo Xinia. Of **course.**_/

"_What?_" asks the captain who had been interrupted, bristling with hostility and perceived insulted affront.

"You just don't get it," the glasses-wearing redhead, so different from another glasses-wearing redhead (Shoichi), repeats. "You just don't get it at _all!_"

"Get _what?_" the Black Spell captain challenges.

"The target of this operation isn't the younger Vongola Famiglia, but what they bring with them."

"What they _bring?_"

Glo Xinia smirks, spreading out his arms in a resplendent flourish.

"Ring. Ring. The _Vongola Rings!_"

There's a moment of stunned silence, with murmurs of "Vongola Rings?" echoing about the room.

Then Fran dryly drawls out, "Yes, thank you _ever_ so much for that _grand_ reveal. By the way, that's a Level 0 infraction for repeatedly ignoring higher-up direct orders to adhere to the dress code, Glo Xinia. And if Byakuran decides to lift the charges again, you're still on cleaning duty next week for that new pile of harassment charges filed against you."

The eccentric redhead frowns sharply, his smirk dropping off, but doesn't say anything in argument.

He makes no move to pat down the furry white pom-poms on his shoulders instead of the regular shoulder-protectors.

Byakuran slips in to diffuse some of the tension.

(Or, you know, add to it. You never can tell with him.)

"Well done, Glo-kun. You're a smart one," he praises with a smile.

The mustached Black Spell captain begins talking again, agitated, stroking his chin in thought. "I understand that they are the greatest Rings and are very appealing…"

"We already have the Mare Rings, which have the same power," disagreeds the squinty-eyed captain.

Only the pudgy Black Spell captain's hologram looks like something was dawning upon him. "Y-You couldn't mean…"

"I think you've got it," Byakuran smiled, displaying his cloudy grey Mare Ring.

(The Mare Ring that only Fran and the other Funeral Wreaths know is a _fake_.)

"I'm after the key to ultimate power."

* * *

An elaborately stone tablet descends from the ceiling, remaining suspended in the air over the middle of the meeting table, offering an unobstructed view to all attendees.

Three circles and indentations are set into the stone, serving as holding places.

/_Always one for theatrics,_/ Fran thinks, unimpressed.

She does, however, sit up slightly to watch the shows.

Also known as, what everyone else's doubtless quite amusing reactions will be.

"The Tri-Ni-Set, the seven Arcobaleno's pacifiers."

5 of the holding places in the uppermost circle are full; the last two are empty.

"The seven Mare Rings, which are the most powerful Rings."

The bottom-left circle is completely empty; understandable, as they are all in possession as of now.

"And the seven Vongola Rings, which are just as powerful."

The bottom-right circle is also empty; that's simply from the Vongola Decimo having the foresight and grim determination to destroy all of them before his death.

('_Murder_' is such an unpleasant word.)

Fran's lips almost twitch downwards at the memory of the day when Byakuran discoveres the Vongola Rings to be gone.

He had been angry.

Very, very angry.

Angrier than he'd been happy on that day when the labs had made a breakthrough and finished the Negative Tri-Ni-Set Rays, thus resulting in the quick deaths of the Completed Arcobalenos and leading to the glorious prize of 5 pacifiers.

"When we have all of these in our hands, we will have the ultimate power."

/_And cue the dramatic gasps._/

Many of the captains gasp, as predicted.

Marie-Anne, Shoichi, Fran, and Byakuran are the ones who stay unruffled.

"By the way," Fran remarks, as if only taking note of the weather or something equally drab and drearily trivial, like taxes. Or work. Or school.

"Why couldn't Gamma attend the meeting, anyway?"

Shoichi meets her gaze unflinchingly, and his answering voice was steady.

"He was injured."

She lids her gaze lower and turns to stare broodingly at the ceiling of the Transmissions Room.

"I see. Well, I'll be going then. Meeting's dismissed, there's nothing else to say, or at least nothing for me to stay for. Efficiency and all that, you know the drill. Ciao."

Without waiting for a confirmation, the tealette switches off her screen.

Miles away, her hologram flickers above the projector-capsule, wavers fiercely, and then zaps out with a 'zzzzzzzip'.

Stretching her arms over her head, Fran strides out of the dark room, and heads to the Dining Hall for a bite to eat before confronting the work piling up in her office.

/_His gaze was unflinching, yes, and his voice was steady, but that's the most suspicious thing about it. Shoichi's never that confident. Half-lies and half-truths are what he's feeding me. I wonder what he's leaving out…?_/

* * *

In the waiting area outside of the meeting room, Byakuran sprawls over one of the couches, one hand slung over the back of the cushion, and one hand squishing a marshmallow he observes with a mild grin.

/_Everyone reacted so amusingly._/

He flashed back to a snapshot-memory of dull teal eyes staring off into space.

/_And even if she would loathe to show it, Francy-chan was pretty annoyed that I didn't warn her before saying and showing all that stuff about the Tri-Ni-Set._/

Letting out a tiny sigh of regret, he crushes the fluffy white confection. /_She understands, though. Some things you just don't **need** to have consent beforehand about._/

There's a knocking sound.

"Excuse me."

The frosted-glass double doors open, and a black-haired young man in a White Spell uniform steps inside, a black device tucked securely under his arm.

"Hi, Leo-kun," Byakuran greets. "Where were you? You could have stayed for the squad captain meeting. You would've been able to see Sho-chan, the guy who introduced you to me."

"Well…" Leonardo Lippi glances shyly to the side, appearing slightly embarrassed. "I'm just a low-rank…"

Slanted eyes narrow, flitting back and forth between lavender and violet. "I see."

"Oh, yes!" Seemingly remembering something, Leo unfolds the device he's carrying and begins to read off of it.

"We just received an emergency report from Squad 11. Four of the subordinates were assassinated by someone, and all the killings were done in impossible situations. They are currently busy with the investigations."

Head dipped down, tufty white spikes of hair obscure Byakuran's eyes from Leo's view.

"Squad 11 is a Gray Spell squad, isn't it? Gray Spell Viola, I believe it was. Francy-chan often commented proudly on their high concentration of capable healers and defensive guards. Picking on the neutral support squad now… ah, I'll be hearing no end of this from Francy-chan these next few days, for sure.

"Still, I suppose it's about time the mole made his move."

Leo blinks. "Mole?"

"Yes, haven't you ever heard of them? Vongola's Special Assassination Squad, Varia."

"Oh, that Varia…"

A hum of agreement. "Mm, it must be them. But I guess it's a good thing. I wasn't sure which squad to send to Japan to assist in the Vongola Rings retrieval, the 8th Squad, White Spell Glicine, or the 11th Squad, Gray Spell Viola."

He tilts his head up at Leo, an unreadable expression in his eyes. "Which one would _you_ send, Leo-kun?"

"M-Me?"

At the nod of assent he garners, the black-haired man blushes lightly and stutters out an answer.

"U-Up against the Varia, I doubt even the 11th Squad, what with all of it's booster-support types, could get there immediately."

Byakuran tilts his head downwards again, eyes fully violet.

"I see."

His eyelids close.

"Would you tell the 8th Squad to go to Japan?"

Leo's startled, but complies readily.

"Then, I will tell Mr. Irie in Japan as well."

"Actually, we shouldn't tell Sho-chan yet," Byakuran disagrees, turning to look at his assistant again.

Crescent-eyed once more, he explains, "Sho-chan doesn't care for people like the 8th Squad's captain. Vulgar, but strong. Men like Glo Xinia."

He pauses briefly, as if something had occurred to him, and laughs suddenly, a startlingly loud sound in the quiet hush of the room.

"Come to think of it, Francy-chan doesn't, either. She takes 'not caring' to a whole different level, though. If she 'doesn't care' for _you?_ Well, several mysterious accidents that are completely untraceable to her will happen, and if you were on fire and dying, she'd rather drink the water and spit on your ashes than hand you the cup. Forgiveness is once in a blue moon for her, and even then, it's more like once in a blue Mars."

* * *

**Background Info**

**(how the Millefiore affords everything, part I):**

"Done!" Marie-Anne announces breezily, with a brisk clap of her hands, as she lets the door to Holding Cell A11 slip silently shut behind her.

She hums a light tune, plucking off her stained surgical gloves.

The gloves are dropped into a decontamination-and-disposal trash can, headed shortly for the Millefiore incinerators.

(It'll be good practice for the D-Ranks and E-Ranks.

They're the ones usually assigned to the 'drudgery' tasks such as taking care of the trash.

The tasks are intended to refine their skills at calling out their Flames, controlling their Flames, and converting their Flames to their basest form:

Plain Flames are plainly flames, as in, if converted correctly, they will burn just like regular fire, with none of the other 'side-effects' from their Flame type.

The exceptions are Rain Flames and Lightning Flames, which, in their basest forms, are plain water and plain lightning, or at least they work just like plain water and plain lightning.

Being able to call up fire that actually and only burns, instead of Disintegrating or Constructing or Activating, or zapping (Lightning) or drowning (Rain), can come in handy in a fight.

You shoot a bolt of Flames at them; they dodge and tumble into the foliage in hiding, expecting it to simply impact on the trees.

Nope.

It impacts, yes, but it catches fire and continues to burn, burn, burn.

They're trapped in a blazing inferno they can't put out without Rain Flames or actual water.

They can try to wait it out, try to Disintegrate the fire or Construct a shield or Harden/Propagate a natural defense...

[Disintegration isn't guaranteed to work, Skies are rare and Harmonizing might not affect plain fire, and with everything else it's just a matter of what fails first, the fire burning out or the shields/defenses getting burned down.]

But most don't think of that.

They tend to simply run, simply flee, and are flushed out of hiding straight into the arms of an ambush.

Granted, that makes Plain Flames a technique best suited for scenarios when environmental damage isn't a concern, but it's still a very useful skill.

Daily uses, once you have enough control, are numerous.

Plain Rain Flames can be drunken, though only by their conjurer, and reportedly taste like mineral water flavored with a refreshing extra _something_.

And the Millefiore Energy Conservation and Command Department require all Lightning Flame users at D-Rank or above to 'donate' weekly amounts of Plain Lightning Flames, which are collected and stored in the spare energy reserves, for when there's not enough solar power, or when Millefiore _really_ needs to stay_ completely_ off-the-grid.

The amount required is calculated based on the purity of their Flames, the size of their Flame reserves, the rate of their Flame regeneration, their current health, their current control, the strength of their Flames, their current duties/obligations, and several other factors.

Those on rotation for secretarial assignation are the ones stuck with the tedious job of calculating and recalculating the figures monthly, along with recording every 'donation' made.)

Her lab-coat has, thankfully, survived the 'detainee visit', remaining as pristine as it had been upon today's morning delivery.

Dropping into her swiveling chair behind her desk, Marie-Anne sends off a message on her info-pad, typing one-handed and stretching languidly.

Grade A prisoners are always the hardest to crack, and this one was no different.

She, Liana, or something like that, anyway, had been a suspected sleeper agent from some middling little Famiglia, and had soldiered on through three whole hours before breaking down in sobs and confessions.

Marie-Anne is impressed.

/_There's a certain satisfaction taken out of a job well done,_/ she reflects, cracking her neck side to side with a happy look, reliving that glorious moment when Liana had finally cracked.

Really, she _is_ impressed.

You have to admire someone who is that dedicated.

And yes, she'd certainly been dedicated, because it takes dedication to suffer in silence, suffer in silence long enough to be marked as a Grade A.

Pity, truly.

If Liana had simply decided to dedicate herself to the Millefiore, then they wouldn't have had to have that distasteful little disagreement.

A sharp smile steals across her face.

/_Distasteful for **her**, probably. **I** personally found it rather soothing. I **have** felt rather irritable lately, but it seems Grade A was just what I needed to soothe **that** particular itch._/

She sighs blissfully.

The info-pad, propped up on her desk, beeps twice.

Immediately, she's alert and reaching for it, opening the answering message to skim the words.

_Sender: Boss Fran_

_Topic: Re. ~ Confess. Extracted, Next Orders?_

_Time Sent: 1 sec ago_

_Message:_

_Standard drill. _

_Good job._

Marie-Anne _glows_ at the praise, however light and off-hand it is.

The next minute, she's all business, typing rapidly on her info-pad, and marking her sent messages as 'OMBT:InterroDept4/19/XXXX'.

So, if anyone authorized to review Millefiore messages decided to view those particular messages, they would automatically know the messages were for Official Millefiore Business Transactions concerning/by the Interrogation Department, and were sent on April 19th, XXXX.

_._

_To: Black Market Contact I: America_

_Topic: Organs Available_

_Time Sent: 18 minutes ago_

_Message:_

_I can offer you a pair of lungs in excellent condition, two perfectly healthy kidneys, a gorgeous heart, a liver, a gallbladder, a spleen, a stomach, and a small intestine._

_Warning: The stomach and small intestine may have deteriorated a little from lack of nutrients._

_However, I'll toss in free freezing, free cleaning, free packaging, and free transport to sweeten the deal a bit. The usual place._

_ID Code: #93867165-kappa-theta-obsidian-viridian-zeedeefee_

_Wire it to the usual, m'kay?_

_-Scalpel_

_._

_To: Black Market Contact IV_

_Topic: Body Parts Available_

_Time Sent: 20 minutes ago_

_Message:_

_I've got 8 pints of fresh O+ blood, about 1000 inches of beautiful unmarred fair skin, two stunningly pretty cobalt-blue eyeballs, 27 teeth (8 incisors, 4 canines, 8 premolars, 7 molars), a womb, and a coronary artery._

_Oh, if you want the scalp, tell me quick. Otherwise, it's gone._

_Free freezing, free cleaning, free packaging, and free transport. The usual drop-off?_

_ID Code: #237599737252100473-rho-kayve-swiffyoop_

_Wire it to the usual._

_-Needle_

_._

_To: Wig Maker Vienna_

_Topic: Sale?_

_Time Sent: 23 minutes ago_

_Recorded Message:_

_Hey, Vincent! It's Mellie. Listen, a friend of mine recently cut their super silky hair because she wanted this trendy pixie cut or whatevs. She gave the hair to me, since she heard that I knew this great hair stylist and wig-maker. D'you think you can take it off my hands? About 36 inches of this gorgeously thick and straight and smooth auburn hair, really really pretty. Like a fiery sunset, or some other poetic jazz, y'know? 3-inches thick, and virgin hair (never been permed or treated). Anyway, call back if you're interested. I hope to hear from you soon! Toodles~! Mellie out!_

.

Her info-pad soon buzzed with alerts.

_._

_From: Black Market Contact I: America_

_Topic: O. Sold_

_Time Sent: less than 1 minute ago_

_Message:_

_I'll give you $309,175 per lung, $178,194 per kidney, $99,823 for the heart, $101,928 for the liver, $874 for the gallbladder, $311 for the spleen, $279 for the stomach, and $1,997 for the small intestine._

_Half upfront, half on delivery, and prices might change, like usual._

_ID Code: #91273465383-delta-zeta-sigil-prawn-drunati_

_Wired._

_Pleasure doing business._

_-Glyph_

_._

_From: Black Market Contact IV_

_Topic: BP Bought_

_Time Sent: 1 minute ago_

_Message:_

_I'll take everything but the teeth and the scalp._

_I have enough of those._

_Prices haven't changed._

_1/3 upfront, the rest after delivery._

_ID Code: #716423841-beta-omega-illu-mragqui_

_Done._

_-S._

.

Marie-Anne smiles happily at all the numbers filling up the Interrogation Department's bank account, which automatically divert into the communal-donations Millefiore Improvement Fund.

That should be enough for a new dorm expansion in one of the smaller bases.

Really, it's like she looks away for a moment, and then suddenly there's 500 more recruits for the Millefiore, from areas they've covertly set up for easy future takeover.

Ah, well, more's the merrier, and more's the meat shields and potential _somebodies_ to their advantage.

/_All, anything, everything for Boss Fran. For the Millefiore._

_For the person who gave me meaning when there was none._/

Her phone, an synced and adapted model of the info-pad, vibrates in her pocket.

She slips it out, slides the screen to 'Open', leans back, and twirls a strand of hair as she takes the call, adjusting her accent and speaking style to fit into the role of 'Mellie James', peppy over-enthusiastic travel-the-world college student who 'just happened' to meet Vincent Ebner, up-and-coming hair stylist and wig-maker/hair-buyer with suspected Mafia connections in need of covert surveillance.

"Hello? Oh, Vincent! _So_ glad to hear from you, dahling! You got my message? Totes fantastic! So whattya thinkin', you gonna bite or what?"

* * *

_**Revised 6/3/15.**_

_**Added: Minor extra details, the background info on Millefiore's many routes of revenue (along with extra insight into Marie-Anne's character; she's not a highly functioning sociopath, or just a possible-relative of Anko Mitarashi; she's got reasons for doing what she does, even if most of them are because she idolizes Fran like the other Funeral Wreaths idolize Byakuran), now in present-tense, the flower thing.**_

_**#**_

_**#**_

_**#**_

_**Lots of dialogue here. :] I tried to stay as close to Episode 88's canon!happenings as much as possible, but Gray Spell had to be interjected into there somewhere. Plus, Fran's more of a 'mentally criticize and comment on everything, then sigh about the stupidity of humans' kind of person.**_

_**Also, that first scene up there is basically the equivalent of one of their typical lovey-dovey conversations. **_

_**Yeah. I know.**_

_**Not exactly chocolates and roses and candlelit dinners with rose-petal baths, but…**_

_**That's how this 10026 rolls, guys. **_

_**Oh, and remember that if you ever need it, Chapter 5: Clarification has a list at the bottom of all of the 'Replacement'-verse Squads and squad info.**_

_**Note: 'Slit' is now up, so if you were on the ones who'd been interested in it, go check it out! :] It won't pick up and go darker until later on, though.**_

_**#**_

_**#**_

_**~Please Review.~**_

_**~I like reviews as much as Spanner likes Japan!~**_


	21. Infiltration

**Summary:**

_Fran's not dumb; she can tell she's only a replacement. She's Yuni's elder sister, but it was official that Yuni would be Boss after Aria died; it's clear everyone liked her kind, gracious and cheery attitude over Fran's indifferent, cold and cynical one. Yuni was the trusting, benevolent "Aria's daughter". Fran was the suspicious, bitter "spitting image of Aria's husband". She's even born with the "wrong" Flame; a strong primary Mist and a weak secondary Sky. But now that Yuni's vanished, Fran's the (grudging) Giglio Nero Boss, and will be the one meeting with Gesso. She's got a bad feeling about their Boss, though; Byakuran's intrigued by a Fran who differs from her parallel selves. Meanwhile, Yuni being gone has a greater significance than any of them realize. TYL!Fran, Fem!Fran, Very AU._

**Disclaimer:**

_KHR! rights go to Akira Amano._

_The cover picture is not mine. It belonged to an insanely talented deviantart artist who I have no way of contacting, so please don't sue me._

* * *

**Reviews:**

_Thank you, '__**ADDBaby**_'_, for your review. Yes, which is why we've never had a family reunion before. :] As for Gamma… again, I can't really reveal anything about the plot, but Yuni didn't really 'abandon' them if that's what you mean. Plus, she doesn't really need 'protecting'... no more than the younger Vongola generation needs it. It'll be explained later._

_And Fran __has_ _considered just walking out on the Giglio Nero before (in the really, really early chapters before Millefiore), but then she always remembers how much Aria and Yuni loved their Famiglia, and even if she feels bitter and betrayed at them vanishing on her, she still respects that love, somewhere deep inside of her with emotions too complex for her to decipher. _

_And now with the Millefiore, she's too invested in it to leave, or __want_ _to leave, what with the whole 10026, the Funeral Wreaths as her very strange 'family' or 'children', and her cushy spot as co-Boss and Gray Spell Commander. Now it's a case of, 'there's nothing really that would convince her to defect from the 'cause', even if she doesn't really care about the Tri-Ni-Set; if that's what Byakuran wants, and that's what she's dedicated to striving for, then she wanted to do this as 'efficiently' and properly as possible'._

_Thank you, '__**Kat**_'_, for your review. Er, that'll have to wait a few more chapters, I think… xp_

* * *

**Quotes:**

"_Good night, sleep tight, don't let the butterflies bite, Francy-chan~!" - Byakuran_

_'The Fake Rain finally lost your favor, eh? Well, he'll make for a decent fighter if he recovers fully. If he recovers halfway, there's always the ranks of cannon fodder needing to be bulked up. Never recovering? … No big pity from me.' - Fran_

'_If Byakuran were here, he'd probably pipe in with some fluffy comment about him being the King and me being his Queen, and the world not being an oyster but a chessboard. … I suppose that that'd make Tsunayoshi Sawada the other King, wouldn't it? But then the question is, which one of us is 'black' and which one of us is 'white'? Or rather… who will make the first move, the deciding move, the finishing move… the __checkmate?_' _\- Fran_

* * *

"You sent the _11th_ Squad to Japan?"

Fran could _hear_ Byakuran's pout over the phone.

"What's with the disbelieving tone, Francy-chan? Mou, it's like you don't trust me at _all_."

She held back a groan and tiredly reached up to rub at her temples.

"Look, Byakuran, my point is, sending _Glo Xinia_ of all people to target the Vongola for their Rings isn't exactly the best idea. Especially if he's going to target who I _think_ he's going to target."

Byakuran's voice turned curious.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I've told you about how my 'Clairvoyance' seemed to get a lot fuzzier a few days ago, right? It hasn't gotten much better, but I've been working at it in nearly all of my free time, and from what visions I got, Glo Xinia will encounter the younger Mist Guardians."

"Mist _Guardians?_ As in _both_ of them? But that's not possible. The older Rokudo Mukuro is still in Vendicare, so even if the younger Mukuro switched, he'd continue to be locked up. It's true that the Negative Tri-Ni-Set Rays appear to have affected the Vendice mildly, but they haven't become so lax as to overlook a missing prisoner. Plus, a younger Mukuro wouldn't be skilled enough to be able to break out again. Even if the younger Vongola and the younger Guardians all decide to try and break _in_, the Millefiore would immediately pick up on their presence."

"First of all, we're in Italy, so it's Mukuro Rokudo, remember? Second of all, let me finish. He will encounter the younger _Chrome_ _Dokuro_. But Mukuro will do _something_; I just can't tell _what_. The visions were particularly blurry in that area. Also, I'm not quite certain, but I have a feeling that it's still the older Mukuro who intervenes, not the younger.

"Although, 'Clairvoyance' only shows the most _likely_ future, so maybe it won't happen. And I don't say this often, but I'll be glad if Mukuro really _does_ stay in Vendice. As good as I am, a match-up between me and Mukuro would be difficult at best. If it were younger Mukuro, though… eh, maybe."

There was a short, thoughtful silence.

Then Byakuran chuckled lightly.

"No need to worry so much over so little~. I have faith in Glo-kun; he's strong enough to be my Fake Rain Funeral Wreath, after all."

"Not the strongest Rain in Millefiore, though. The strongest one is a Gray Spell, I believe."

"Yes, it's rather ironic, isn't it? Marie-Anne, Head of Interrogation, as the 'rain to wash away the blood of battle'. It's more likely that she'll be the one _causing_ the blood. Not in battle, however; it's a real pity that she's so against fighting. Ah, well, her _specialized_ skill set is more suited to one-on-one, anyway."

"You're avoiding the subject."

"Am I~? I couldn't tell."

"Byakuran…"

"Francy-chan, just relax a little and wait for the Varia, won't you? Your warning's been heard, and I'll relay it to Glo-kun, and then we'll all be happy. Okay?"

"Yes, but what about the whole Mukuro thing-"

"_Your call has been ended."_

The tealette, sitting alone in her office, looked down at the slim silver device in her hand with a mixture of incredulity, indignance, and subtle, subtle worry.

"He hung up on me!" Fran realized, severely offended.

With a minor huff, she tucked the phone into one of the handily disguised compartments of her poofy mushroom hat.

(Mildly giving her thanks to whichever ancestor had been genius enough to convert some of that empty space into useful storage places, hence giving a much more practical aspect to the giant traditional Giglio Nero head-wear.)

Turning back to her desk, slender fingers gripped a calligraphy pen and began to fluidly scrawl down signatures, with ink infused with traces of her Mist and Sky Flames as an 'authenticity seal' of sorts.

/But still, Glo Xinia's not who I worry about,/ she thought absently as she mindlessly flipped through the endless paperwork.

/Glo Xinia could fall off of a cliff right now for all that _I_ care. It's the fact that if he loses, it will reflect badly on the Millefiore, possibly lose us a Fake Funeral Wreath and Fake Mare Ring, and most likely give the Vongola extra information that was slipped in the heat of battle. And if Mukuro Rokudo starts becoming active again…

Oh, _why_ can't Byakuran see how _horribly_ this could all turn out? At least he agreed that we should up the dosage of radiation fed into the air.../

* * *

Fran blinked awake, startled out of her mindscape by a faint buzzing noise.

She didn't automatically throw a glob of Hard Mist Flames at the disruption, because Vi, who kept a nightly vigil over her, would've surely sounded an alert if there was an intruder or something to be wary of.

(Sure enough, the large 'butterfly', perched on the windowsill with brightly burning Flame-wings, merely waggled her antennae in greeting to the now-awake Fran.)

Completely clear-headed and out of that groggy in-between state, as a consequence of her hair-trigger instincts (which any decent Mafioso accumulated over the years, along with paranoia), she swiftly pin-pointed the source of the noise as her phone.

More accurately, the specially built private phone that only Byakuran knew the number to.

Conjuring up a glowing illusionary lamp, the clock on the wall was revealed to read 1:09.

Since she highly doubted that she had managed to sleep past noon, that meant that, for some obscure reason she was in no mood to puzzle out, Byakuran had interrupted her lovely nap to call her at ungodly hours of the night/morning.

But then again, Fran considered herself an agnostic; not believing outright in a divine higher being/beings, and not believing outright in _no_ divine higher being/beings. So was 'ungodly' really the right word?

(Because if the Mafia had what were essentially pyromaniacs on steroids, there was no telling _what_ the universe still had in store.)

/Eh, whatever,/ she decided.

/It's _way_ too early for this shit./

Sliding the phone to 'On' with a lazy poke of Mist Flames, she answered with a noticeably unimpressed tone.

"Confirmation code swirl-loop-twist-marshmallow, it's Fran speaking. To what do I owe this unpleasant wake-up call at one o'clock in the freaking _morning?_"

"Dash-nine-twenty-two-guava, it's Byakuran. And… you were right, Glo Xinia was defeated."

She raised a much more good-humored eyebrow at the minuscule hint of grudging defeat in his last sentence.

It was always a nice feeling to have Byakuran admit he was wrong in _anything_.

"Oh? He died?"

To say that she was even the slightest bit saddened by the redhead's possible death would be a lie.

Byakuran sighed, exaggerated.

"There's no need for you to ring up the crematorium yet, Francy-chan. Glo Xinia's just been severely wounded; your healers are seeing to him as of now."

"Basically, you mean that Glo Xinia's almost dead and that my best healers told you that they refuse to treat him unless I order them to, so you called me to brief me on the situation and request that I don't tell them to interfere with his treatment?" Fran interpreted.

"Basically, yes. And…?"

She frowned sharply, and ran a hand through her sleep-mussed strands of teal hair.

"Alright, I'll send an approval," she agreed reluctantly.

Stepping softly out of the bed, a few more steps brought her over to her communicator mounted on the wall.

After tapping in a few sequences of letters and numbers, the screen soon lit up and flashed twice, signaling a successful sending and accepting.

"It's done," Fran confirmed shortly, sinking back under her nest of blankets and pillows.

Muffling a yawn, she continued, "So what's the brief? Did he battle Chrome, and Mukuro showed up?"

"I couldn't glean much about the scuffle, because Glo Xinia's in no condition to report right now. However, he was most definitely soundly defeated, and several traces of Mist Flame residue were found, so he was most likely fighting an illusionist. His Mare Ring, however, has been taken."

"Do they know?"

"That it's a fake? No, or else further action would've been taken."

"Is that all? Because if so, I'd very much like to get back to my nap and rearrange my mindscape a bit."

He hummed musingly.

"Other than a note that tomorrow the Dellinger Phenomenon will be happening, so keep a sharp eye out since the security cameras will be down, that's it. Good night, sleep tight, don't let the butterflies bite, Francy-chan~!"

She scoffed, but with an almost _fond_ smile on her lips. "Oh, please, Vi doesn't bite and you know it. If anything, your _dragons_ are the ones that bite, Byakuran."

Ending the call, Fran put it on lock and slipped it under her hat, which rested on the bedside table.

Drifting back to the 'sleeping' form of her mindscape, she busily set about organizing the 'films' of memory that Vi's drones had recorded, deleting the ones that were simply cluttering up space, and filing away the more useful ones under labels of 'Blackmail', 'Info', and 'Misc.'.

It was peaceful.

And goodness knows that she won't be having much of _that_ quite soon.

/Don't think that I didn't notice how you stopped addressing Glo Xinia as 'Glo-kun'. The Fake Rain finally lost your favor, eh? Well, he'll make for a decent fighter if he recovers fully. If he recovers halfway, there's always the ranks of cannon fodder needing to be bulked up. Never recovering? … No big pity from me./

* * *

"What's with all the ruckus in HQ?"

Byakuran, on the screen in the Transmissions Room, smiled not-very-nicely.

He was squishing another marshmallow between his fingers.

"Ah, nothing too important. I simply found out what Leo-kun was hiding. Oh, and I'll be sending over Rasiel soon, for back-up with the Varia."

Fran twitched her lips downwards and reached up to adjust her hat.

"Tch, that freaking annoying self-proclaimed 'king'? As long as he stays out of my way and doesn't make everything more inefficient than it already is. And about Leonardo?" she prodded impatiently.

"Turns out he was Guido Greco."

/Guido Greco?/ Fran channeled the inquiry through to Vi, who was floating around somewhere in the base.

-A former inmate who murdered fifteen men and escaped from prison roughly a year ago, Summoner,- was her Box Animal's prompt reply.

(It definitely helped sometimes to have an ally who quite literally had photographic memory.)

"But he wasn't," added the grinning fiend (which was how Fran thought of Byakuran in her less positive moods).

She tapped her scepter against the floor, irritated.

"Can't you ever get to the point, Byakuran? _Must_ you _always_ toss in a few misleading hints here and a few off-topic nudges there?"

He shrugged, unabashed.

"Fine, I'll be straight to the point: Mukuro was possessing Guido."

Fran's fingers loosened around the staff, and she sucked in a breath.

"Is that why I received a report a few hours ago from one of my healers stating that you came into the infirmary to get some superficial wounds and second-degree burns treated?"

Another shrug, careless.

"Probably."

She sighed.

"I'll assume that he's been taken of, then. Any _other_ news? Preferably good news?"

"Well… Glo-kun's managed to tell us where the Vongola Base is, so that's something. And I've just told Sho-chan that he must escape if the Vongola invade the Melone Base."

"... You think that he'll take the chance to stage his defection?"

"Don't you?"

"I suppose it'd be an ideal situation… oh, wait, I'll have to contact you later. The communication devices I issued to every Gray Spell members have been going off; I need to check them."

Pushing the 'End Call' button, she switched the screen off, and swiveled around the chair in one smooth motion to press the 'Take Call' switch.

The gray squares on the 'Incoming Calls' screen, which had been blinking on and off for the last few seconds, suddenly flashed white once and then expanded to cover the entire screen.

An image flickered on, and the screen appeared to show like a camera lens.

"Hello…?"

* * *

Adam Fernando was a very plain sort of man.

Decently smart, and with a decent capacity for Rain Flames.

But that was it.

Decent.

He was average, and he knew it.

He also knew that he was lucky to have gotten into the neutral, friendlier Gray Spell, and that his Spell Commander was fiercely defensive about her Spell.

(Plus, she really, really scared him. And had the Gray Spell's complete admiration/worship. And that mini-lecture she'd given a week ago about 'being worse than useless' had kinda stuck.)

Which was why, when Captain Shoichi Irie declared himself to be leading the base, and the uprising that followed had been quelled by that traitorous bastard Genkishi (some of their Spell Commander's more 'opinionated' comments had also stuck) who had threatened to kill any who opposed…

… His first reaction had been to draw out the flat silver communication disks that had been mandatorily assigned to every Gray Spell member, and send a call request.

A few seconds later, dozens of mini holograms of his Spell Commander's head had popped up in the milling crowd of uniforms, inciting many grateful cries of, "Boss Fran!"

(And don't ask why the Gray Spell all referred to her as 'Boss Fran'; it just seemed natural.)

/Huh. I guess we all had the same idea./

"Hello…?"

. . .

The holograms all spoke and moved in unison, creating an eerie rippling effect.

Genkishi faltered, but Shoichi merely pushed up the bridge of his glasses.

"Hello, Fran-san," he greeted cordially.

She appeared distinctly unamused, and glanced around.

(When you factored in the multiple 3-D heads bobbing in thin air, it had moved from 'eerie' to 'creepy'.)

"Yes, well, I highly doubt that this massive gathering is for the sake of greeting me; if that was the case, none of my subordinates should've needed to use their comm-disks. So what's happening?"

Some people shifted uneasily, glancing between their current commanding officer (Shoichi) and their higher-ranking Boss.

This did not go over well with the tealette.

"I order you, as a direct order overriding previous commands, to tell me as your Boss and ranking superior what is happening," she directed coolly, pinning down the a random Gray Spell with one of her trademark blank glares.

The Gray Spell being glared at broke down and confessed immediately.

"_Captain-Shoichi-declared-himself-leader-of-the-base-and-wouldn't-let-us-leave-and-Genkishi-started-threatening-to-kill_," he babbled in one breath.

Shoichi interjected, presumably to salvage what he could of his authority.

"The Spells were needed to defend the base. Genkishi was acting independently and got out of hand. However, since you are here as the Gray Spell Commander and Millefiore Boss, if you'd prefer to evacuate your Spell, I will yield option that to you. It is understood that healers and defenders are in high demand back at HQ because of the recent assault on the 8th Squad," he smoothly offered.

Fran looked impassive.

"I see," she murmured, not clarifying on what she 'saw'. "Well, then, this was a wasted call. How inefficient. All Gray Spell members in the Melone Base, evacuate back to HQ and commence Plan 5-L for extra preparation and warding. Over and out."

. . .

Back in the Transmissions Room, Fran pushed the 'End Call' button again, and leaned back in her chair.

She stared thoughtfully up at the ceiling.

/I'd have extracted _all_ of the Spells, but we _do_ need to find out Shoichi's planning, and if we take away all his pawns, he'll have nothing left to set his plans into motion.

I wonder when he'll realize that _he's_ just another pawn, too.

If Byakuran were here, he'd probably pipe in with some fluffy comment about him being the King and me being his Queen, and the world not being an oyster but a chessboard.

… I suppose that that'd make Tsunayoshi Sawada the other King, wouldn't it?

But then the question is, which one of us is 'black' and which one of us is 'white'?

Or rather… who will make the first move, the deciding move, the finishing move…

… the _checkmate?_/

* * *

It was dark.

It was night.

It was silent.

And there was a shadow flitting across the drawn curtains of the bedroom.

A figure, lithe and light, clambered sinuously down the sheer stone outside wall, hanging precariously upside-down.

With a couple of careful, well-placed slits with a special diamond-capped cutter, the thickly bulletproof windowpane was removed.

The figure cautiously parted the curtains, and slid inside the room, landing soundlessly on the fluffily carpeted floor.

Easing the windowpane onto the floor, the figure glided up to the four-poster canopy bed, stationed in the far corner of the surprisingly modestly proportioned room.

Staring down at the soundly sleeping girl ( /no, not a _girl_, not a _child_, but a woman of 25, a woman who has seen the world and killed before without mercy/ ), tucked under the covers, her shoulder-length tresses splayed innocently across the pillow.

A thin, oddly curved blade appeared in the figure's hand with a flick.

/It's just a job, a duty, a mission. You were on the other side. It's how life works. No hard feelings?/

The moonlight, poking between the opened curtains…

… the figure, swinging downwards with a practiced hand…

… the strands of hair reflecting teal…

… the figure's short hair shining blond…

… the knife glittering dull silver…

… the razor-sharp edge slicing effortlessly through the pale, pale skin of the vulnerable throat like butter…

… and the neat, tidy line of blood-red being the only incriminating evidence as the woman shuddered slightly and died with a soft sigh.

Then the lights flicked on and Belphegor somehow found himself lying prone on the exact some fluffily carpeted floor, bound by steel cords and looking up at the same tealette he could've sworn that he'd just murdered.

. . .

Fran stood, one hand slipping off of the light switch to grasp her scepter, the other hand on a scarlet button in the wall.

She was gazing down at him with a spark of interest in her otherwise dull eyes, dressed simply in a long grey cloak, a large mushroom-shaped hat, a Gray Spell uniform, two feathers in her hair, and Flame Boots.

"So," she drawled. "I suppose I have to eliminate you now, no? Belphegor of the Varia, I presume. Your presence means the invasion must be underway… eh, how troublesome. No hard feelings?"

Grinning madly, 'Prince the Ripper' instantly disintegrated the steel cords with a burst of Storm Flames and dove to the side, narrowly missing a bolt of Hard Mist Flames.

He called out his Storm Mink and armed himself, dozens of daggers and wires appearing in his hands.

/I couldn't use Storm Flames before, because that would've set off the alarms for an unregistered Flame User. But now?

Fair game, right?/

"Ushishishishi~ so the mushroom peasant wishes to play with the prince~?"

Quirking an eyebrow, she smacked the button, setting off blaring alarms.

In the next second, the 'feathers' in her hair morphed into Mist Flames in the shape of butterfly wings, and curly antennae popped out; all around the base, invisible drones fluttered into the clothes of any nearby intruders, landing on the skin over their hearts and detonating, wiping out a good portion.

/A Box Animal was already out? And what were those explosions just then?/

Fran slammed her staff into the floor, the Mist gem glowing with Flames, and lacing the area with heavily layered illusions.

She glanced indifferently at him, but the spark in her eyes had ignited into a blaze, an inferno.

"All right; we'll play. Can you dodge _this?_"

Then Belphegor was dodging and disintegrating and _destroying_ and avoiding the sudden explosions of Mist Flames near him, cackling and stabbing and _living-in-the-blur-__in-the-rush__-__**in-the-heat**__-of-the-moment-__of-the-victory__-__**of-the-battle**_…

Then Fran was ducking and dropping and _destroying_ and avoiding the sudden volleys of Storm-covered knives near her, casting and swerving and _living-in-the-crystal-__in-the-clear__-__**in-the-cold**__-of-the-instant-__of-the-triumph__-__**of-the-duel**_…

… _**And it felt /invincible/.**_

* * *

_**#**_

_**#**_

_**#**_

_**And there you have your Varia Invasion start. :]**_

_**As for that whole 'troublesome' vibe that Fran was giving off… yup, I pulled a Shikamaru on her. :0**_

_**Oh, in case you didn't get it: Belphegor 'kills' Fran, which turns out to be an illusion that he was caught in in the moment that he stepped into the room. Vi and her drones had alerted Fran through their mental connection ages ago, when they first detected intruders on premises. So Fran was already awake and awaiting Belphegor's assassination attempt.**_

_**Remember, the next omake mark is 75 reviews. ;]**_

_**#**_

_**#**_

_**~Please Review~**_

_**~I love reviews more than Hibari loves Hibird.~**_

_**(Not that he'll admit it, of course.)**_


	22. Defenestration

**Summary:**

_Fran's not dumb; she can tell she's only a replacement. She's Yuni's elder sister, but it was official that Yuni would be Boss after Aria died; it's clear everyone liked her kind, gracious and cheery attitude over Fran's indifferent, cold and cynical one. Yuni was the trusting, benevolent "Aria's daughter". Fran was the suspicious, bitter "spitting image of Aria's husband". She's even born with the "wrong" Flame; a strong primary Mist and a weak secondary Sky. But now that Yuni's vanished, Fran's the (grudging) Giglio Nero Boss, and will be the one meeting with Gesso. She's got a bad feeling about their Boss, though; Byakuran's intrigued by a Fran who differs from her parallel selves. Meanwhile, Yuni being gone has a greater significance than any of them realize. TYL!Fran, Fem!Fran, Very AU._

**Disclaimer:**

_KHR! rights go to Akira Amano._

_The cover picture is not mine. It belonged to an insanely talented deviantart artist who I have no way of contacting, so please don't sue me._

* * *

**Reviews:**

_Thank you, '__**Kat**_'_, for your review. No, she's not dead. I can say that much. The big reveal should be coming. Probably the next chapter? Or the one after that, anyway._

_Thank you, '__**Leez**_'_, for your review. Hopefully, this chapter should answer that. :]_

_Thank you, '__**Prince-ZuChiRu**_'_, for your review. And here's an update. :]_

_Thank you, '__**ADDBaby**_'_, for your review. Fran's unimpressed face should be trademarked or something. That appears to be her default expression around Byakuran. ;]_

_Thank you, '**SayaNightshade**', for your reviews. It's always nice to see a new reader/reviewer. :]_

* * *

**Quotes:**

'The King vs. the Prince, with an Elephant Butler. Wow, that sounds like a really bad 'walked into a bar' joke.' - Fran

* * *

_Staying up late to review production reports was not what Fran had wanted to do that night._

_Her thoughts had been more along the lines of… "eat some guava candy and then go to sleep for as long as I can"._

_Sadly, as every Mafia Boss knows, paperwork is a cruel but necessary part of the job._

'_Speed up bullet production in Spain,' she absently scribbled down, her eyes duller than usual._

_-Intruders on premises sighted! North Block, and incoming on East, West, and South. Chances of it being Varia are 93.7%,- Vi reported, her bland mechanical tone never wavering._

_Fran dropped the pen and immediately checked her reserves._

_56% full; the rest is in the drones, the 'Mist Batteries', and Vi._

_/Okay, I can work with this. Vi, start spitting out as many drones as you can, alert me when any really dangerous ones get close, and order all the drones to target the intruders. Detonate when I order./_

_Opening a Mist Storage Box, one of her Mist Batteries, she watched her Flames go up to 68%._

_/I might need the rest for later. Take as many Flames as you need, just don't stop spitting out the drones, Vi./_

_-Understood, Summoner.-_

_Ignoring the multitudes of Mist fireballs-turned-drones flitting off, Fran concentrated and cast a very specific wide-range illusion._

_Just in the base, of course, and just a regular illusion._

_If it worked, then every Millefiore member in the base should've received a hologram-like Fran informing them to get ready for a Varia invasion._

_For good measure, she quickly sent off an 'intruder alert' notification from her info pad._

_Using the red 'panic button' would've been too flashy, and she couldn't afford to lose the precious advantage of surprise too soon._

_So, she'd have to be content with the more discreet warnings, and simply hope that there wouldn't be too many ally casualties._

_It was terribly inefficient to lose decently trained subordinates, after all._

_-There's a Varia Guardian climbing down the outside wall, presumably headed for your bedroom window, Summoner.-_

_/Shit!/_

_Fran snapped her head up from the infopad, dropping it onto the desk with a quiet clatter._

_Cursing mentally at herself for leaving her scepter in her room, she concentrated again and visualized herself dissolving._

_The Mist Teleportation technique was a nifty trick and supremely handy at times, but it also demanded complete focus and a clear head to determine where the destination would be._

_Breaking down and converting your physical body into Mist Flames while preserving your 'soul' or 'spirit' and memories is not an easy task._

'_Materializing' again by using the 'Construction' property to rebuild the physical body that can host the soul/spirit and memories is even harder._

_The longer you stay 'Mist', the harder it is for your soul/spirit and memories to 'remember' what their 'host body' was, and the likelier it is that the 'materialization' will end up with a different body or a body that is rejected as a 'host'._

_Slowly reforming again, she found herself in a corner of her bedroom._

_/Perfect./_

_Quickly shaking off the uneasy goosebumps that always formed as a result of her time spent as 'Mist' or 'immaterial', Fran swiftly layered herself with basic invisibility, presence-erasing, and overlooking illusions._

_Then she snatched up her trusty scepter from the bedside table, and slowly, carefully, with a fine eye for detail, 'Constructed' an illusionary scene that would play out before dispelling itself._

_Once the Varia Guardian sent to assassinate her dropped through the window, she laid the illusion scene on him, and watched as he instantly closed his eyes and fell onto the ground._

_She conjured up some Real Illusion steel cords and bound him, before approaching._

_-Belphegor, the Storm Guardian. Coincidentally, he is Rasiel's younger twin brother. Also known by his alias, 'Prince the Ripper'. Fights close-range with knives and wires, as well as long-range. No data on his Boxes.-_

_Fran frowned slightly and checked to make sure that he was truly knocked out, wary of a sudden close-range attack._

_/That's bad. I'm mid-range with my bo staff and long-range with illusions, but he's definitely stronger and faster than I am. Mist users typically aren't very fit. I'd better go for a quick kill; slitting his throat would be best, since I can't trust my aim well enough that I would try to impale his brain and not accidentally wake him up. I mean, I __**could**_ _use a drone to explode his heart, that's both a waste of a drone, and since he fell face-down, turning him over might trigger him to wake up, too. Damned 'Varia Quality' instincts./_

_Crouching down, a Real Illusion butterfly knife ( /ah, the irony/ ) flashed into being, appearing between her fingers._

_About to slash through the blond's carotid arteries, Fran was thrown off by the sudden acceleration of his heartbeat and the minuscule twitch of his fingers._

_/Fuck, he's waking up too early, gotta get out of range before he disintegrates the cords and tries to stab me,/ was basically how her thoughts went as she leapt up and away, landing lightly next to both the light switch and the red 'panic button'._

_She could hear faint sounds of the invasion starting, but the clashing of metal meant that at least it wasn't a one-sided off-guard massacre._

_/Vi, change of plans, keep spitting out drones but direct ⅓ of them to cling to the Varia Storm. Get ready to detonate the ones in the base./_

_This and a thousand other plans blurred through her mind, with back-up plans, back-up back-up plans, and FUBAR GTFO plans for the back-up back-up plans._

_Belphegor moved to look up at her._

_/48% left, and draining __**fast**_ _from all the drones. 46%, 44%, 42%.../_

_Fran opened her mouth. _

_To speak, to __say__, to __**stall.**_

_. . ._

Fran sighed and ducked, rolling away from another barrage of Storm Flames-covered knives.

/This room is going to be unsalvageable later,/ she thought, with a mournful glance at the completely destroyed walls. /Pity about that; the paperwork to reconstruct the base alone will be a nightmare./

Then she had to focus on the battle again.

/This is a bad match-up. The bedroom's too cramped for me to fight effectively with my mid-range bo staff, while Belphegor seems to be both an experienced far-range and close-range fighter with those knives and wires of his./

She furrowed her eyebrows when he simply batted aside her illusions, partly because none of them were really registering in his one-track bloodlust, and partly because that Box Animal of his was dedicated to blasting any of the closer illusions with Storm Flames.

. . .

Illusions were a tricky thing to cast, and understanding how they worked and dispelled was trickier.

Normal illusions affected the mind, and could cause mental and physical damage by fooling the brain's perception of reality and thus triggering pain receptors.

They could _look_ like they affected objects, but without a brain to influence, the illusions wouldn't _really_ do anything to them.

Real Illusions, meanwhile, were just Mist Flames molded into different shapes; their 'template' of how to act and react was taken from the caster's mind, though the caster could change their behavior at will.

Since they had a physical 'body' of their own, from the Construction property of the Soft Mist Flames and the 'physical-ness' of the Hard Mist Flames, they could harm both objects without brains and creatures with brains.

[Chapter 12, 'Elation', has a more in-depth coverage on the illusions of 'Replacement'-verse.]

. . .

Dispelling illusions, Real or not, was a very vaguely defined skill.

Most think that if you simply can tell it's not real, then poof! the illusions vanish.

That's not really accurate.

Because if that was the case, then why can illusionists cast illusions on themselves, and when you say 'tell', do you mean 'knowing' or 'thinking'?

'Knowing' something's not real is drastically different from just 'thinking' something's not real.

The truth is, to dispel normal illusions, you have to _know_, be 100% (or close enough to it) _sure_ that something's wrong, or 'off'.

Then you have to picture the 'original', a.k.a. what everything _should_ be like.

Of course, that only stops the illusions from affecting _you_, not the people around you.

Some illusionists are more cautious, and will layer multiple illusions subtly on top of each other, enough to mimic reality with a few unnoticeable changes.

Which means, you may _think_ you have dispelled the illusion, but that could be only the first layer.

As for casting beneficial illusions on yourself or allies... a _willing_ 'suspension of disbelief' would work, as would acknowledging that it's an illusion but making no attempts to dispel it. Rather, just embrace it.

. . .

'Dispelling' also doesn't 'cancel out' the illusions completely; only the caster can do that.

It takes a moment of intense concentration to 'dispel' an illusion at first, and then after that, at least _some_ part of your mind must be dedicated to keeping up the 'dispelment', whether consciously or subconsciously.

. . .

If the illusions never 'take root' in your mind, however, they will be rendered ineffective and weak, easily see-through.

Most illusions _do_ 'take root', though, at least slightly.

'Seeing is believing', and after witnessing all the marvels of Flames and technology, usually once it's 'seen' a suspension of disbelief occurs, so the illusion still affects them.

Why else do everyone except the very logical people fall for the impressive but completely unrealistic illusions typically used in the flashy battles?

Ex: The floor 'suddenly' turning to _magma_, of all things. Or cherry blossoms (sakura) just 'happening' to appear out of _thin air?_ Or _gigantic vines_ 'mysteriously' blooming out of the _ground_ and _trapping someone?_

(No less believable than time travel, however, and we all know where that goes.)

That (the 'not taking root' thing) usually happens with experienced illusionists, or those with unusually strong mindscape barriers or instincts, who know better than to believe in the illusions of less experienced illusionists.

. . .

Sometimes, hanging around an illusionist, particularly strong ones, can lead to a person building up a 'resistance' to illusions, allowing them to identify them faster, or have them wear off sooner.

Especially observant people might also catch missing details that don't add up, probably from some aspect of the illusion that the caster didn't refine (such as fuzzy details, lack of realistic features, lack of shadows, lack of weight, etc.), tipping them off to the realization that they've been fooled.

Real Illusions are much harder to dispel; nearly impossible without the caster's consent.

They have physical forms, and can be worse or better than the 'real thing', depending on the caster's talent, skill, experience, Flames purity, etc.

However, because of that very physical-ness, weapons and Flames can work on them.

Unless they've been entirely destroyed, it is at most a temporary setback, though.

Illusionists, if they know how, can easily just patch up and upgrade their Real Illusions before sending them off again for battle.

The problem with this battle was that there _shouldn't have __**been**_ a battle.

. . .

Fran hadn't counted on Belphegor having such a strong resistance to illusions (most likely picked up from being around the infamous Mammon of Varia for so long), and therefore waking up from the illusion ahead of time, before she could kill him.

As said earlier, her staff couldn't fight well in an enclosed area like this, the normal illusions weren't taking root because he wasn't exactly thinking about anything beyond 'blood_kill__**blood**__kill_' at this berserker rage stage, and Real Illusions were being entirely disintegrated by the Storm Flames.

Firing bolts of Hard Mist Flames seemed to work; they overpowered his Storm Flames and melted all of his knives.

Vi's drone-explosions were les successful, because it ran the risk of setting the room on fire, and could be easily dodged (though not without taking some damage) if you were fast enough and smart enough to predict when and where they'd happen.

Unfortunately, firing pure bolts of pure Hard Mist Flames was exhausting on her reserves, and coupled with all of the drones Vi was churning out (a lot of which were directed into the hallways of the base to detonate enemies), she was running seriously low on Flames.

Her physical body was tiring, too, but at much slower regression.

At least he seemed to be more harmed than she was; Fran's clothes, all made of essentially everything-proof cloth (courtesy of the surprisingly useful annexation of the Ragnatela Famiglia), had shielded her from most of the cuts and fire, though it wa starting to look a little frayed and scorched around the edges.

Belphegor, meanwhile, had suffered multiple burns, some minor and most rather nasty, and his clothes were distinctly tattered.

But if this turned into a battle of endurance, she would surely lose.

A cold, rounded metal weight, hanging from a hidden cord around her neck and laying softly against her chest, briefly warmed with a flaring heat against her bare skin.

Without looking, she knew it would be a silver ring with the numbers '6-6-6' on it.

A silver ring that she'd almost forgotten about; _almost_, not _truly_, because how could she ever forget something like _that_, whose presence hung ominously over her, whose possible consequences she was reminded about every time someone mentioned the 'Phantom Knight Genkishi'?

/I am _not_ using _that_; I've survived this long without it, I'll survive a while longer. If only it would just leave me alone… I value my soul, thank you very much./

Fran was not a straight-upfront fighter.

She desperately needed to refill her reserves, _soon_, but if Belphegor never let up on the attacks, she was effectively banned from using one of her 'Mist Batteries'; opening the Boxes took at least two seconds, and in this whirlwind battle, even a split-second could mean her death.

He didn't seem to be running out of weaponry or Flames anytime soon, either.

And Fran viewed fighting losing battles as a severely inefficient use of time.

So, she dumped Belphegor on someone else.

/Family reunion; aren't I such a _nice_ person?/

"RASIEL! COURTYARD SECTOR W3, NOW!"

At the familiar name, her opponent faltered for a split-second.

She immediately took advantage of it and lashed out viciously with her scepter/disguised bo staff, slamming him out of the open window.

Upon glimpsing the nearly identical blond on a flying throne moving to meet Belphegor, she didn't stay to watch their confrontation further, instead opting to recharge with some much needed Mist Flames.

And then Fran plunged right back into the fray in the hallways, energized by the 'Mist Batteries', with Vi never stopping her rapid-fire drone production.

/The King vs. the Prince, with an Elephant Butler. Wow, that sounds like a really bad 'walked into a bar' joke./

* * *

_**#**_

_**#**_

_**#**_

_**The obligatory kinda-not-really-battle scene.**_

_**And yes, even though Fran's the co-Boss of the Millefiore, Gray Spell Commander, and the actual Mist Funeral Wreath, keep in mind that she's not as physically fit as a Varia assassin would be. (And Gray Spell is more of a support type, anyway.) Mammon said in canon that illusionists normally fight exclusively with illusions.**_

_**Plus, it really was a bad match-up. She's wary of close-range combat, which Bel is excellent at because of his knives, and her scepter/disguised bo staff is a mid-range weapon. Meanwhile, Bel can still be a far-range combat-er with his knives and wires, and he **__**is**_ _**supposed to be a battle genius, though I interpreted his 'bloodlust' as a sort of 'berserker' stage, which kinda grants him immunity to illusions, since he's not really taking in his surroundings or thinking at all. **_

_**She **__**did**_ _**hurt him somewhat with the Hard Mist Flames and drone-explosions, but that takes a lot out of her Flame reserves, so she had to either find a way to end the battle fast or find a way to flee so that she could refill her reserves.**_

_**Also, she was already kinda running low.**_

_**Note: As of this chapter, it's 62 reviews. Just 13 more until the next omakes~! :]**_

_**#**_

_**#**_

_**~Please Review~**_

_**~I like reviews as much as Zakuro likes lava.~**_


	23. Commemoration

**Summary:**

_Fran's not blind, and Fran's not deaf; she can tell she's only a replacement. Yuni was the trusting, benevolent "Aria's daughter". Fran was the suspicious, bitter "spitting image of that-guy-who-married-Aria". She's even born with the "wrong" Flame; a strong primary Mist and a weak secondary Sky. But now that Yuni's vanished, Fran's the (grudging) Giglio Nero Boss. Byakuran's intrigued by a Fran who differs so drastically from her parallel selves. Meanwhile, Yuni being gone has a greater significance than any of them realize._

**Disclaimer:**

_KHR! rights go to Akira Amano._

_The cover picture may or may not be mine, depending on which one I'm using. I tend to switch frequently. In case it isn't mine, then this is a general disclaimer for that. So, yeah. Don't sue me, please._

**Note:**

_/insert words here/ are thoughts._

_Assume__ that they are speaking Italian unless otherwise stated or implied. Fran is canon-ly French, so her father here is French, and she is fluent in it. When stressed and cursing, whether out loud or mentally, she has a tendency to slip and slide back into French._

* * *

**Reviews:**

_Thank you, '__**SayaNightshade**_'_, for your reviews. They were, like, ⅓ of my total reviews just by themselves. But seriously, you're amazing and a totally awesome for reviewing every chapter, I hope you'll continue to enjoy the story, and your comments were hilarious. :]_

_Thank you, '__**Kat**_'_, for your review. See, I was actually kinda stressing over writing the Hell Ring scene correctly, because does Canon!Fran even use it in the anime? Eh, that's been postponed, anyway. ;]_

_Thank you, '__**ADDBaby**_'_, for your review. The ironic thing about that is the fact that in the anime, Fran was the only character to have ever broken the fourth wall. So fourth wall breaking is totally a Canon!Fran skill. :0_

* * *

_~The now abandoned and thoroughly demolished Gesso Headquarters housed an indoor, underground greenhouse. It was difficult to figure out the heating and circulation and feeding and such, but Gesso Nona was a determined, headstrong woman on a mission to get what she wanted. She wanted an indoor, underground greenhouse. She got an indoor, underground greenhouse. To celebrate, Bianca hand-planted several of the first seeds. _

_Buttercups__ are bright, golden yellow flowers, which tend to bloom in the spring. Some believe it's name comes from cows eating it to give butter it's color, while in reality, buttercups are highly poisonous to cattle._

_It can be analyzed to mean **cheerfulness**, ingratitude, **childishness**, and desire for riches.~_

* * *

/You're going to do great things when you grow up, Ran. Greatly good or greatly terrible, that will have to wait and see./ - Bianca

* * *

**Omake 5 (Tattoo and Sweets Part 2 [Byakuran]):**

Fran often idly questions Byakuran about _his_ choice in food, as a sort of payback for prodding about her guava fixation.

More specifically, why he likes those marshmallows of his so much.

Byakuran always gives a smile (fake_artificial__**wrong**_) in return and adeptly changes the subject, still chewing away on his signature sweet.

But on the quiet days, the days when everyone's busy and he's not desperately needed, the _significant _days…

He takes the afternoon off, locks himself in his office, and then it's just-

Him.

A bottle of champagne.

A bag of marshmallows.

A mirror.

And the memories.

/_Oh the memories they come, _

_you can't ever run, _

_not 'till they're done, _

_not 'till you fall, _

_brought on by the familiar sights in the _

_mirror__mirror__**mirror-on-the-wall...**_/

. . .

"_Ran!"_

_A small, white-haired child, no older than 6, was bright-eyed with excitement and bouncing with pride; he rushed to embrace the woman with her arms outstretched._

"_Madre_ [Mother]!_ Madre, Madre, Madre look, Signor Abbadelli cleared me for leveling up to Intermediate Flames Theory! I can recite all of the Flames and their properties now!"_

_The woman, young and intimidatingly beautiful, with stern lavender eyes and long spikes of snow-shaded hair, laughed and lifted her son up easily._

"_Why don't you tell me right now, then, my little orchid? We can talk on the way to your special birthday breakfast!"_

_One of her bodyguards, obviously new and inexperienced, shifted uncomfortably and spoke up._

"_Gesso Nona? You have a very important meeting with the Artigliere Famiglia in two hours, concerning a major source of guns shipments and trading routes, Boss."_

_Bianca Gesso didn't look back, and just kept on striding forward with her heels going click-click-click-clack and the child clutching her shoulders looking curiously at his mother._

_She simply gave a careless backwards flick of her fingers, her fingers that were stained with the phantom blood of many lives taken mercilessly._

_Suddenly, the click-click-click-clacking sounded a lot more ominous in the empty hallway, as a reminder that the stiletto heels probably contained __**actual**_ _stiletto __**knives**__, and that the Ninth hadn't got to where she was today by being a damn pushover._

"_No, I don't," she corrected, making it sound like a fact, like 'the sky is blue' and 'I can kill you in less than a second'._

_Her fingers flicked again. _

"_Cancel it."_

_Before the guard could foolishly protest, the other bodyguard, an older veteran Gesso member, elbowed his partner in the stomach; a warning, a cautionary hint. _

"_You __**don't**_ _go against the Boss's orders. I don't care if you're a cocky newbie recruit or what, but when the Boss is with her kid she means_ _**business**__. Or, rather, the exact __**opposite**_ _of having any business to do," he whispered._

_They were both aware that Bianca could hear their every word exchanged._

_That was how she wanted it._

_. . ._

_Smiling softly, warmly down on the innocent face of her adorable child, she poked his nose and pinched his pudgy cheeks, still plump with the last vestiges of baby-fat._

_He immediately pulled away and pouted, rubbing sulkily at the red spots fading rapidly from his pale, nearly albino skin._

"_So…?" she prompted, jiggling him slightly in her arms so that she could maneuver a hand free to open the private office door._

_Byakuran perked up again and flashed a grin, before starting his recital._

"_See, there are Dying Will Flames, right? A 'high-density form of energy taken from one's own life-force.' And-"_

"_Wrong," Bianca interrupted, plopping him down in a cushy armchair and taking the high-backed seat across from him._

_In between them lay a large oaken desk, laden with sugary breakfast treats of all kinds._

_The two bodyguards shuffled in silently, and took up observing positions around the room, melting inconspicuously into the background._

_Being used to seeing his mother surrounded constantly by her subordinates, or as she liked to refer to them jokingly (well, __**probably**_ _jokingly, but you never could tell) as, her 'minions', Byakuran paid them no mind and focused on Bianca's explanation._

"_It's not really __**taken**_ _from your own life-force, because otherwise lots of Flame-users would've died really young. Flames are naturally produced inside one's Flame core, and are replenished over time. Rest and nutrients helps boost replenishing rates. Using your Flames a lot can also quicken the rate, and expand your core. Some call their core their 'reserves', or 'capacity'. _

"_The rate of Flame replenishment varies from person to person. If you're too low on Flames, you'll either faint and wake up once your levels are stable again, or go into a coma and wake up once your mind is stable with your Flames. Sometimes people don't __**ever**_ _wake up from a Flame-induced coma, if their will to live isn't strong enough to recall their mind, or if their body stops producing Flames and stabilizing because it believes it's dead. Flames can be injected or infused to another person, but intent matters, and foreign Flames are often rejected immediately."_

_She paused and glanced at him, smiling mildly at the dab of whipped cream on his lips from his waffles._

"_Understand?"_

_Byakuran nodded solemnly, absorbing the tidbit._

_(The 'serious' look was kinda ruined by his childish cuteness and the whipped cream.)_

_. . ._

_He picked up from where he'd left off, sipping a cup of hot cocoa and swinging his chubby, stubby legs._

"_And Flames are very similar to normal fire; they can still burn and everything. The purer they are, the stronger they are. Purity of the Flames is linked to strong a person's resolve is. There are 7 types of Flames, with different properties and uses._

"_Red Flames are Storm Flames, the Tempesta. They can Disintegrate, decaying and breaking down anything it touches, including other Dying Will Flames. That's why it's hard to sneak-attack a strong Flame-Active Storm, even if they're unconscious, because their Flames will automatically rise to defend, and subsequently wake them up. If the attacker is close enough, they could have their face Disintegrated right off!_

"_Blue Flames are Rain Flames, the Pioggia. They can Appease and Dull with Tranquility, weakening others by slowing them down. Rains are also great spies adn assassins, because they can Dull their presence and people's reactions. __Sneak-attacks are instinctively slowed down, with the attacker paralyzed, depending on strength. Though, Rains are usually the ones **doing** the sneak-attacking. Really similar to water, which is kinda weird, because then isn't watery fire an oxymoron?"_

_In response to his question, Bianca shrugged and hid a smile behind her cup of tea._

"_Dying Will Flames… not much about them makes sense, Ran. You pretty much come to accept all of the strange and ridiculous physics-defying things that life throws at you, especially if you're going to be a Mafia Boss."_

_Nodding gravely again in acknowledgment of this pearl of wisdom and sanity, he continued._

"_Indigo Flames are Cloud Flames, the… the Nu.. Nuvola? They can Reproduce and Grow with Propagation, which is great for wide-range techniques since they can replicate and multiply stuff. They're probably the easiest to sneak-attack, but they also tend to wake up the fastest from knock-out agents or illusions, since their Flames just Propagate adrenaline until they wake up. Clouds can be very good healers, too, since their Flames can just Propagate healthy cells, but most Clouds dislike being the one healing others._

"_Violet Flames are Mist Flames, the Nebbia. They can Construct, which is basically how illusions are made, though there are normal illusions and there are Real Illusions. Sneak-attacking an Illusionist is always risky, and nearly never a good move, since Mists are typically very aware of their surroundings; they have to be in touch with reality, or else they can't tell apart illusions from reality anymore, and are liable to get trapped by another Illusionist. So yes, it's very hard to sneak up on an Illusionist, and there's always a chance that you've already been duped and are in an illusion. On the off chance that you succeed, Illusionists often pride themselves on their mental strength, if not necessarily their mental stability, and thus are usually quite weak physically. Shields might automatically be Constructed and thrown up to absorb damage, but hastily Constructed shields can be easily shattered with enough force or best course of action is to exhaust them of their Flames first, or somehow cut off their access to their Flames._

"_Green Flames are Lightning Flames, the Fulmine. They can Harden, solidifying or increasing an object's firmness. Just like Rain Flames, they're more like actual lightning than like actual fire. A little-known and oft-ignored tidbit is that Lightning Flames can absorb damage and some part of weaker __Flames, making them excellent for quick-fix healing and defense. As a rule, Lightnings usually have high pain thresholds as a result of absorbing pain and foreign Flames. Sneak-attackers more likely than not end up fried, electrocuted, paralyzed, or shocked, depending on severity, reflex, strength, and experience._

"_Yellow Flames are Sun Flames, the Sereno. They can Stimulate and Strengthen with Activation, healing by speeding up cell growth and supporting by boosting others' skills. Also considered easy to sneak-attack by comparison, though it's likely that they'll just heal themselves up afterwards. Also, many are wary of medics, because it's common belief that if they know how to heal, they certainly know to most effectively kill. As another rule, Suns also usually have high pain thresholds, unless they're exclusively medics with no battle experience or preparation. There's a theory that speeding up cell growth adversely affects the patient by aging them faster, though it's not much of a concern when it's a choice between getting a few months shaved off, or bleeding out to an agonizing death in battle. The average life expectancy for Mafia grunts is only around 20, 28 for low-skilled members, 33 for mid-skilled members, 42 for high-skilled members, and 50 for Bosses. Add on 5 years for Flame-active ones. Some say that very skilled and precise Suns can mature plants and animals rapidly, growing trees from seeds in a matter of hours, and growing fully-grown animals from baby newborns in a matter of days._

"_And Sky Flames."_

_Byakuran stopped for a moment, and almost glowed with childish pride and delight._

"_**My**_ _Flames."_

"_And mine," Bianca reminded with an indulgent smile, chuckling at the embarrassed blush that crawled over her son's face._

"_Well, yeah, sorry. Anyway, Sky Flames, the Cielo, are orange. They're the rarest and most special Flames, because they have the unique property of Harmonization. There's a lot of stuff they can do, and a lot of stuff that hasn't been properly researched yet. Stats for Skies are about 1 in 1,000, but Flame-active Skies who can conjure up more than a momentary wisp are about 1 in 10,000._

"_Skies are said to have a sort of 'draw' on the people around them, a sort of charisma that makes others want to trust them. Mafia Bosses are usually Skies, though there have been cases of other Flame Types. _

"_Sky Flames can Petrify other Flames by Harmonizing with them, so sneak-attacks with Flames are basically suicide, and Sky Users are capable of using all Flame Types, though actually converting and using their Flames successfully is much harder than it sounds. Usually, Skies have one or two Flames that they can successfully and strongly convert to, and are merely attuned to the other Flames a little higher than those who don't have that Flame type, or aren't Skies."_

_. . ._

_This time he stopped to peer eagerly at his mother, waiting for praise._

"_How'd I do, Madre?"_

_The Gesso Nona smiled again, reaching forward to cradle Byakuran's head in her hands._

_He stayed perfectly still as she examined him with deep, searching eyes._

_Then she let go and leaned back, still smiling._

"_You did wonderfully, my little orchid. A regular child genius, eh? Of course, __**you**_ _aren't regular. You're my child and heir. And I think it's about time that you were recognized officially as that, anyway."_

_Byakuran gasped, and then inched until he was on the edge of his seat, lavender eyes glittering._

"_You mean…?"_

_Bianca dipped her head in confirmation, meeting his gaze with identical lavender eyes, one index finger tapping the upside-down purple crown tattooed on her right cheek._

"_Yup, the Boss and Heir/Heiress tattoo. Lucky for us, the Gesso have their own tattoo artist. We can go right after breakfast; where do you want it? Think of it as a birthday present," she suggested._

"_I want it on my left cheek, so me and Madre will match!" _

_Something in his mother's words jumped out at him._

"_Wait, __**a**_ _birthday present?"_

"_Always the sharp one, little orchid. Of course that's not the only one. You know that I don't condone spoiling kids, but, well, it's your birthday, and you've been excelling so proficiently in classes, and can't an old woman dote on her only son now and then? Who knows, maybe I'll even let you pick out your first weapon."_

"_You aren't old, Madre," Byakuran argued._

_Bianca merely smiled, a hint mysteriously, and leaned forward for another hug._

"_Sometimes… sometimes I feel a lot differently," she murmured into his ghostly-white hair._

_. . ._

_He frowned into her shirt, but didn't pull away._

"_Are you thinking of Papa again?"_

_A sigh, fond and weary._

"_You know me too well, little orchid."_

"_That's not a proper answer, Madre," he pointed out accusingly._

"_Mmm, no, you're right, it isn't. But don't you know? Mafioso never give proper answers, and Bosses less so. If it's not about what's __**not**_ _being said, then it's just a matter of trust to give a straightforward answer. And trust is a luxury few can afford in the Mafia. In this case, I trust you, so it's the former rather than the latter."_

"_Did… did you trust Papa?"_

_Bianca released him and looked at him._

"_What brings on this question? You've never asked about your Papa before."_

_He squirmed guiltily in his seat, fiddling with his fingers._

"_Well, maybe it's time that I did, then."_

_Byakuran didn't tilt his head back up, but he could tell nonetheless that his mother was smiling again._

"_I did trust your Papa. I trusted him a lot. His name was Gabriel Polvere, and he was a freelance assassin who later allied with the Gesso Famiglia. He had the oddest shade of silvery-gray hair and these owl-like brown-black eyes, and I always teased him about it, saying that he 'practically had one foot in the grave with old man hair like that'."_

_A touch of wistfulness skimmed across her features, and for a moment, the stunning young woman in her prime aged into a mourning widower with not much left to live for except her son and Famiglia._

"_He loved marshmallows, too. I could never find him not with a marshmallow at hand, and it drove me insane at first. I was convinced he was a Mist User or something, because nothing else could explain how he could make a marshmallow appear when there was literally nowhere to hide it. Always smiling, always joking; sometimes I had to keep him from taking a joke a little too far, into maliciousness rather than light-hearted fun._

"_Once, when I finally gave up and asked why he loved those marshmallows so much, he looked surprised and said, 'Why, you didn't guess? I love marshmallows because they're white like your hair, sweet like your smiles, and no matter how much you squish them, they just pop right back out again, like your determined attitude. So in short, I love __**them**__, because I love __**you**__; you're my marshmallow, Bianca.'_

"_Of course, I smacked him later for using such a cheesy metaphor to try and propose to me, but I accepted it when he tried again with a more appropriate proposal," Bianca added._

_She glanced at her son, who was uncharacteristically quiet._

"_What, no comments on your Madre's 'mushy romance'? Are you over that stage when every boy seems to think that every girl has 'cooties'? Should I be preparing for grandchildren anytime soon?"_

_Byakuran flushed crimson and squeaked out denials._

"_Ew, no! Besides, I know better than to believe in 'cooties'; it's just that everyone my age seems so… __**dumb**__. And easy to predict. Honestly, it's like they're no challenge at all! A-anyway, that's not what I was going to say."_

"_So what __**were**_ _you going to say?"_

_He stared into her eyes with a spark of resolve that foretold of very strong Dying Will Flames later on, clenching his fists._

"_D-do you think that I could order some marshmallows after I get my Heir Tattoo? And maybe I could get a picture of Papa, also?"_

_Bianca touched her forehead to his much smaller one and enclosed her arms around him._

"_Why not?"_

_But on the inside, she kept lingering on that spark, that brilliant, beautiful, __**pure**_ _spark of resolve._

_/You're going to do great things when you grow up, Ran. Greatly good or greatly terrible, that will have to wait and see./_

_. . ._

Now _he_ is the one behind the desk, behind the desk of his own, in his Millefiore office.

Byakuran absently twirls a marshmallow on the tips of his fingers, his other fingers gently resting on his tattoo.

He watches his image in the mirror hanging directly across from him.

/_If it had longer hair…_

_… and narrower cheekbones…_

_… and the tattoo was on the other side..._/

A sideways glance lands on a framed picture of a young woman with cunning eyes, captured mid-laugh.

/_It's like seeing Madre all over again._/

Sighing, he presses a button and turns away from the mirror, now draped with a cloth, covering the memories_memories__**memories**__**regrets**_.

/_And this is why I only installed that one mirror for presentation purposes._/

The rest of the night is spent gazing off into space, nursing a dwindling bottle of champagne and chewing on the never-ending marshmallows.

/_Sugar helps dull the edges, and the alcohol's not enough to get drunk on, anyway._/

[Some references to Chapter 4, Contemplation, which has much of Byakuran's backstory, and explains the mirrors.]

* * *

_**Revised 5/30/15**_

_**Added: a bunch of stuff to the Flames explanation, present tense for some parts, the italics for thoughts, the flower symbol, the single quote, and 'Mamma' is 'Madre' now. Oh, the Flames explanation for Storm also adds to the reasoning for why Fran didn't 'efficiently' kill Belphegor, and had to foist him off onto Rasiel. Plus, I couldn't have her kill him too quickly, because I want to highlight and emphasize the fact that while she's impressive, she isn't overpowered, and the drawbacks of her Box Animal's 'drone-explosions' are fast Flame draining, and the fact that they are still just explosions of Flames, and thus can be countered with Disintegrating them, or Tranquilizing them, or whatever. Make no mistake; this time around, Fran's got the Mare Ring, Clairvoyance, minor secondary Sky Flames, and the Hell Ring she hasn't even used yet. Though, her Sky Flames take a lot out of her to use, and thus won't show up much. And the reason for her Clairvoyance being dulled so much is a minor plot point, and will be touched upon later.**_

_**And if Byakuran's speech seemed a little too mature, remember: he's literally a genius.**_

_**#**_

_**#**_

_**#**_

_**And yet another super-long omake. Chapter-length, this time. :]**_

_**If you need more Fem!Fran or 10026 interaction for today, check out 'Coincidence', an AU College!verse oneshot. Kinda 'Replacement'-verse? It really only has the guava references, but that counts, right? Right? ...**_

_**#**_

_**#**_

_**~Please Review.~**_

_**~I love reviews more than everyone in Namimori seems to love turning a blind eye and ear to all the teens running around with fire on their heads.~**_

_**(Like, seriously, WTF? Are all the adults smoking weed or something? Is that how they remain so oblivious to the people with their heads. On. Freaking. FIRE!?)**_


	24. Simulation

**Summary:**

_Fran's not dumb; she can tell she's only a replacement. She's Yuni's elder sister, but it was official that Yuni would be Boss after Aria died; it's clear everyone liked her kind, gracious and cheery attitude over Fran's indifferent, cold and cynical one. Yuni was the trusting, benevolent "Aria's daughter". Fran was the suspicious, bitter "spitting image of Aria's husband". She's even born with the "wrong" Flame; a strong primary Mist and a weak secondary Sky. But now that Yuni's vanished, Fran's the (grudging) Giglio Nero Boss, and will be the one meeting with Gesso. She's got a bad feeling about their Boss, though; Byakuran's intrigued by a Fran who differs from her parallel selves. Meanwhile, Yuni being gone has a greater significance than any of them realize. TYL!Fran, Fem!Fran, Very AU._

**Disclaimer:**

_KHR! rights go to Akira Amano._

_The cover picture is not mine. It belonged to an insanely talented deviantart artist who I have no way of contacting, so please don't sue me._

* * *

**Reviews:**

_Thank you, '__**Prince-ZuChiRu**_'_, for your review. I do try~! :]_

_Thank you, '__**Kat**_'_, for your review. Nah, it's fine. A short review is still a review, right? ;]_

_Thank you, '__**SayaNightshade**_'_, for your reviews. Your multiple reviews were definitely the highlights of my last two days. It felt like every time I refreshed the page there was a new one. :0 And I know; 'anime physics' seems to be the only thing to explain all of that stuff that would make literally no sense in the real world (or, well, what we __**think**_ _of as our real world, anyway; who knows?)._

* * *

**Quotes:**

_"Every decent base should have a self-destruct sequence built into it; it's common media knowledge." - Fran_

_"They're like cockroaches; you could drop an atom bomb on them and even then they'd probably figure out a way to continue to be an annoyance from beyond the grave." - Fran_

_"Romantic for you means marshmallow cake and bad puns, Byakuran." - Fran_

_"Wow, the computer sounds just like you, Francy-chan~!" - Byakuran_

_"The all-out attack in Italy and the raid on Merone Base in Japan… were a ton of fun." - Byakuran_

_"A ton of fun for you, maybe. My best cloak and hat were awfully dirtied." - Fran_

_. . ._

_"Byakuran-san…" - Shoichi_

_"And Fran." - Fran_

_ "Th-This is… Byakuran…" - Tsunayoshi Sawada_

_'And Fran, because hello, what am I, chopped liver? Or are you guys just all blind and deaf now?' - Fran_

_"Yes, people tend to be much less awed when they actually meet the real deal." - Fran_

_. . ._

_"Because come on, people, I have teal hair and dark blue triangular eye-markings. Is that not distinctive enough?" - Fran_

_"Not as distinctive as white hair and lavender eyes, I'm afraid. Jealous of my PR and charismatic appeal, Francy-chan~? Aww, you know that I'm forever yours and only yours~!" - Byakuran_

_"No thanks, I'd rather get a receipt to return and a refund." - Fran_

_"He's Byakuran. Of course he's plotting something. He's always plotting something." - Fran_

_"I'd think that it means the ring was a fake, judging by Byakuran's words and, you know, the whole 'dropping off and breaking apart' thing. But that's just my own opinion. Please, carry on with the needless panicking and stating everything that's obvious out loud. I'm sure the brain cells killed from the redundant stupidity will grow back… someday." - Fran_

_'Byakuran, you creeper, that picture of Bluebell sleeping is definitely stalkerish...' - Fran_

_"There were Millefiore members I didn't know of!?" - Shoichi_

_"You can't possibly expect us to believe that you thought you knew every single one of the Millefiore members. We have, like, over 10,000 and counting, what with the new recruits everyday and all." - Fran_

* * *

On the outside, Byakuran was the poster child (er, poster man?) of relaxation.

He was seated comfortably in his office chair, legs kicked up onto the desk, with nothing to preoccupy his time except eat marshmallows and plot future meddlings.

_On the outside._

On the inside, even though he was fairly sure Fran was powerful enough to handle the Varia, Byakuran was mildly (very, _very_ mildly) …

… not _worried_…

… but concerned about the deviation from the schedule?

Yes, concerned.

That was what he was feeling.

/She's always going on and on about being on time so as to not be inefficient,/ he mused.

A glance at the wall-mounted clock revealed that it was nearly 10 P.M.

His smile didn't _drop_, not exactly, but faint creases _did_ form on his forehead.

/So why is she so late for her check-in? It must've started… would she really miss two check-ins, though? Is she having any trouble with squashing the invasion? Fran shouldn't, though.../

Just then, as if on cue, his 'Incoming Transmissions' button in his desk blinked rapidly.

A press to accept the call caused a screen, about the size of a plasma TV, to slide smoothly down from the ceiling, until it was hanging directly in front of him.

The blackened pixels blurred and cleared until he was looking at a very rumpled and blank-faced tealette.

"Francy-chan~! How goes the utter annihilation of the enemy foes?" Byakuran greeted cheerfully, not moving from his position sprawled over his quite cushy armchair.

Impassive, with nary an eyebrow twitch, Fran droned out a flat reply, patting down her singed and drooping hat.

/It looks more like a floppy mushroom now… or a deflated pillow, maybe. Her cloak's torn in a few places, too, with ashes as an indicator of Dying Will Flames being used. The rest of her body from the chest and down is cut off by the screen, but her grip on her scepter is looser than usual, signaling weariness or lack of current threats,/ he cataloged and sorted mentally.

(He _was_ still a genius, after all, even if he preferred not to act like it most of the time.

Seeing people's reactions was just too fun~!)

"All in mostly one shape," she reported tonelessly. "Rasiel just had to be a complete fool and go off to challenge _Xanxus _of all people after he finally got his revenge on his brother. Though if you ask me, finishing off an opponent when they've already been hurt in multiple places isn't much of an achievement to be proud of. And of course Olgelt, that idiot buffoon of a hopelessly devoted slave-butler, follows his 'King' everywhere.

"So yes, those two blundering arrogant insubordinate morons are dead now, largely because they refused to listen to my orders of evacuation. Which means the Lightning Funeral Wreath is out of commission."

He nodded in acknowledgement of this statement; they both knew that she meant the 'Fake' one, but it was too risky to say it aloud when not on their private, secure line.

Anyone could be eavesdropping right now.

. . .

"And yes, I did order an evacuation of the base. I was burning through my 'Mist Batteries' too fast. However, we managed to eliminate approximately 98.67% of the non-Guardian Varia members participating in the invasion. The calculations are courtesy of Vi, by the way.

"Oh, and Belphegor was killed, too, as earlier mentioned, so now the Varia are missing a Storm, Cloud, and Mist. Unless they found new recruits suited…? No, probably not, or else we've had heard of it. The Millefiore Intelligence Network is unparalleled, because even the civilians of the conquered countries are encouraged to report suspicious happenings.

"Because of the evacuation, though, with me and Vi covering the Millefiore's backs, we lost only 5 White Spell members, 3

Black Spell members, and 4 Gray Spell members, out of a possible 211 total.

"At the cost of all of my 'Mist Batteries', I was able to fend off the remaining Varia Guardians and flee the base. I had to flee, because the base was empty by that time, anyway, and I was the only one left. It was shortly after Rasiel and Olgelt were killed by Xanxus, who was angered that they refused to call you.

"When he sensed that I was the only Millefiore left, he also demanded that I call you, and threatened to open his Box Animal. I had put on an illusion, so I don't think he recognized me. Anyway, I knew I needed the rest of my energy to 'Mist Teleport' to where the evacuated were, so I blew up the base," she said casually, the faintest wisps of a satisfied smirk lingering around her lips.

"Blew up the base? How so?" he questioned. /She's told me most everything she knows about her Box Animal, I believe. Was it the 'drone-explosions' she mentioned, then?/

"With the self-destruct trigger, of course. Every decent base should have a self-destruct sequence built into it; it's common media knowledge. So as soon as I moved to that base, I took Vi's suggestion and rigged the entire place with explosives that I illusioned to look invisible.

"As soon as Xanxus sensed me and called me out, I sent off a Real Illusion of myself to the Control Room, and had it enter the trigger code. Then I just Mist Teleported myself away when the countdown reached two seconds. The explosives' range should be around a mile in radius."

She paused briefly and gave a one-shouldered shrug, looking bored.

"Of course, I doubt that Xanxus, the Varia Sun, Rain, and Lightning are actually dead. They're like cockroaches; you could drop an atom bomb on them and even then they'd probably figure out a way to continue to be an annoyance from beyond the grave. I am, however, confident in stating that the Varia Storm is most definitely 100% dead. Rasiel disintegrated his heart and slit his throat, while I set his corpse on fire for good measure. Then I used some illusions to scatter and bury the ashes. He'd have to be an immortal zombie to survive that."

"You never fail to amaze me at how you can discuss things like that without batting an eye, as if conversing about how your lunch was, Francy-chan~," Byakuran commented lightly.

Fran's dulled stare grew even more deadpan.

"That's exactly what _you_ do, you fucking hypocrite. And I _wish_ I had lunch right now; do you know where I'm calling you from? In the middle of the air on Flame Boots, still about three hours away from the Main Base. Even as I speak I have to figure out a rotation order for who heals who on the way, and who casts the invisibility illusions.

"I can't maintain the illusions myself, because I'm essentially running on 12% of my Flames right now, and it'd be extremely lucky if I can get to Base before the drain from the Boots knocks me out. Vi's even sealed back into her Box.

"You'd better have the most delicious lunch ever made ready for me when I do reach Base, and several A-rank Mists ready to give a transfusion, or so help me I will be cursing your name ten times over while I'm unconscious in my mindscape," she promised blandly, too lacking in any kind of malicious over- or undertone to qualify it as an actual threat.

He saluted her with the traditional Millefiore salute and winked.

"Of course, Francy-chan~. Romantic meal for two?"

She scoffed and turned away slightly, flicking her hand flippantly.

"Romantic for you means marshmallow cake and bad puns, Byakuran. I'm too tired to deal with you right now."

The screen dissolved into black again, and retracted silently back into the ceiling, folding up flat as the overhead tiles slid back into place.

Byakuran just smiled knowingly to himself and ate another marshmallow.

(He could see her mouth twitching upwards into the beginnings of a smile as she turned away.)

* * *

A few hours later, rested and replenished and pleasantly full, Fran was in the Transmissions Room of the Millefiore HQ with Byakuran.

(Unfortunately, she was both hatless and cloakless, because her hat needed to be mended, and she hadn't had the time to grab a back-up cloak from her room. Thus, she was stuck in only a Gray Spell uniform and Flame Boots, repressing the mild shivers she got. [Fran was quite sensitive to the cold, and hence disliked it immensely. Why else would she drag around an insulating cloak all the time?])

"Link-ups established. Merone Base, Japan, and Millefiore Base T92, Italy. Dominant Destination Viewpoint is Destination 1, Merone Base in Japan. Project from the two transmitters closest to Shoichi Irie's Sun Flame Signals in Destination 1 and Unknowns' Flame Signals in Destination 2?" the Transmissions Device asked in a coolly detached monotone.

"Wow, the computer sounds just like you, Francy-chan~!" Byakuran exclaimed with a comically exaggerated expression.

Ignoring him, she leaned forward and spoke into the microphone. "Confirm, Code #18372."

There was short humming sound, and then the screen shimmered. "Code #18372 confirmation accepted. Projection Latches located. Please put on the Projection Headsets for a more realistic experience."

/What is this, a theme-park attraction or something?/ Fran thought.

Nevertheless, she reached forward and unhooked one of the black helmet-like headsets, settling it over her head until all she could see was darkness.

Then the darkness lit up with a few blocky white letters: [Please wait… Downloading surroundings… 34% complete… 79% complete… 100% complete.]

And suddenly, Fran was in the Merone Base, watching younger versions of the Tenth Vongola Generation panic at the sight of her and a flickering reddish Byakuran hologram.

/Oh, wait, no. Huh, it's been a while since I've used a full-body projection. I'm a reddish hologram right now, too. Hmm? Did Byakuran say something?/

She glanced up, met Shoichi's startled gaze, and waggled her fingers in a sardonic wave.

. . .

"No," her counterpart was saying with a close-eyed smile. "We're just taking a breather. The all-out attack in Italy and the raid on Merone Base in Japan… were a ton of fun."

"A ton of fun for _you_, maybe," Fran snarked flatly. "My best cloak and hat were awfully dirtied."

"Y-You're-" the pompadour-wearing man in the back choked out.

(In the decimated ruins of the Millefiore Base T92 in Italy, a man reclining on a throne muttered, "A hologram, huh?"

"It's coming from the receiver of an enemy we took out," the silver-haired swordsman agreed.

Sadly, that went unnoticed, as the Dominant Destination Viewpoint was the Merone Base, meaning that the two Millefiore Bosses weren't aware of the reactions in the T92 Base.)

"Byakuran-san…" Shoichi stumbled back.

"And _Fran_," she muttered in reminder, a tad miffed.

"Th-This is… Byakuran…" stuttered the fluffy-haired brown-eyed teen that Fran had labeled as 'Younger Tsunayoshi Sawada'.

/And _Fran_, because _hello_, what am I, chopped liver? Or are you guys just all blind and deaf now?/

"Yes, people tend to be much less awed when they actually meet the real deal," she shrugged.

Glossing over her words, Byakuran continued, "I was able to witness the true strength of the strongest Vongola squad. Very productive for a preliminary skirmish."

"It's not like _you_ were the one actually _in_ the 'skirmish' or anything…" Fran interjected mutinously. "You still owe me a decent lunch, by the way."

The others collectively sweat-dropped.

"Er… are you…?"

She put on a mock offended look, placing a hand dramatically clasped to her chest.

"Oh no, no one except Shoichi and Spanner recognize me. It breaks my heart. Truly, it does," she deadpanned.

Then Fran angled towards Byakuran to complain in monotone.

"Seriously, why is it that everyone knows who _you_ are, but the moment _I_ come, I don't even get a single 'hello'? Is it the hat and cloak and the scepter I left behind? The scepter didn't appear because the transmitters can't carry it over.

"Am I really that undistinctive without them, though? Because come _on_, people, I have _teal _hair and _dark blue triangular eye-markings_. Is that not distinctive enough?"

He shrugged, still close-eyed.

"Not as distinctive as white hair and lavender eyes, I'm afraid. Jealous of my PR and charismatic appeal, Francy-chan~? Aww, you know that I'm forever yours and only yours~!"

"No thanks, I'd rather get a receipt to return and a refund."

Meanwhile, Shoichi appeared to have filled in the younger Vongolas.

"She's Fran-san, the other Millefiore Boss, and the Gray Spell Commander," he explained in a whisper.

"E-Eh? There's _another_ one!?"

Byakuran moved on.

. . .

"It was also entertaining to watch Sho-chan try to fool me at the Merone Base."

"Wha-? Th-Then you knew I was trying to…" the redhead spluttered, visibly shocked.

/Still too easy to read,/ Fran thought with the equivalent of a mental sigh.

"Yep, it was plain as day," Byakuran carelessly confirmed.

"Though," she added, "it was a good plan to use this battle as an opportunity to switch sides. Very efficient. We could tell you were going to join the Vongola; it was rather obvious when I found you attempting to swap out the bullets in the gun."

"But I knew you'd become my enemy one day, Sho-chan," he picked up smoothly, speaking in tandem. "After all, you've always disapproved of my actions."

Shoichi paled. "You're wrong…"

"Here we go," Byakuran sighed. "Well, do as you like. We'll soon see which one of us is right."

"I hope you mean which _side _is right, Byakuran, because I _am_ still here," Fran reminded blandly.

He smiled, mollifying and sheepish. "Of course, of course."

Then he added to Shoichi, "Still, you have curious taste… entrusting the fate of the world to the young and naive Vongola X?"

"The fate of the world…?" the younger Decimo repeated to himself.

The younger Vongola Storm Guardian, eager as always to defend his precious 'Jyuudaime', lunged forward.

"Freak! Show some respect for the boss!"

Fran half-turned upon hearing his voice, a spark of remembrance in her dulled eyes.

"Oh? The younger version of Hayato Gokudera, the Vongola Storm Guardian, was it? You know, you reacted much the same way the last time I saw you… fiercely guarding your Decimo. Now of course, in the end, that all came to naught, didn't it?"

And the worse thing about the way she said it was that she didn't even sound like she was _trying _to be cruel or mean; she simply stated it, like one would state a vaguely interesting fact.

The silver-haired teen snarled and was quickly restrained by some of the others.

Byakuran bulldozed forward as if nothing had happened.

"Honestly, it would be simple to throw our resources at you relentlessly and whittle the Vongola down."

/Which is what I _thought_ we should've done,/ the tealette mentally sighed again.

"But you've managed to entertain me so far. Besides, it hurts my pride as a leader when my second-in-command jumps ship."

His eyes snapped open, devious.

"So I figured we should have a proper match. An official contest between the Vongola Famiglia, led by Tsunayoshi Sawada, and our Millefiore Famiglia. With," he added, "the 7 [to the power of 3] Policy on the line, naturally."

. . .

"The 7 [to the power of 3] Policy!?" the younger Decimo shrieked.

"The timing is perfect… for a ceremony to bid farewell to Sho-chan and the old world, and ring in a new one."

The Sun Arcobaleno muttered, "He's plotting something."

Fran overheard and shrugged.

"He's Byakuran. Of course he's plotting something. He's _always_ plotting something."

"A new world?" was the general sentiment of the rest.

Shoichi spread out his arms.

"Please wait, Byakuran-san! Do you believe we'll accept so readily?"

"Oh, you've got spunk, Sho-chan."

"And do you honestly believe that you guys have much of a say in the decision? For that matter, do you honestly believe that you guys stand a chance against the Millefiore otherwise?" she questioned rhetorically.

He raised his hand, revealing the cloudy pale-blue gem set in a silver winged ring, and forged onwards.

"You sent four to Merone Base here in Japan. One to Italy. Five of the six Funeral Wreaths were deployed. And you've lost five of the seven Mare Rings. You're just a bird with clipped wings."

If you knew Fran well enough, you could tell right then that she was amused, while somehow remaining unreadable. /Oh, the irony… bird, wings, Byakuran has wings.../

Byakuran closed his eyes again.

"Hmm," he hummed. "Yeah… if those had been real."

The grips holding the jewel in place broke, and the rest of the ring shattered.

It lay in pieces on the cold concrete floor.

Shoichi's eyes widened.

"Huh!? The ring shattered! What does that mean!?"

. . .

"Well," Fran drawled, with a clear implication of 'no, _duh_', "I'd think that it means the ring was a fake, judging by Byakuran's words and, you know, the whole 'dropping off and breaking apart' thing."

She lifted up one shoulder in a shrug, indifferent. "But that's just my own opinion. Please, carry on with the needless panicking and stating everything that's obvious out loud. I'm sure the brain cells killed from the redundant stupidity will grow back… someday."

Aaand… of course she was ignored.

Again.

/Why do I even bother?/

"Fakes!" Shoichi blurted out.

"No way! They weren't the Mare Rings!?" the young Decimo cried.

She really, really wanted to facepalm right then.

Seriously.

Did _no one _at _**all **__hear her!?_

/I wish I could've brought Vi over; she's annoyingly literal, but at least she's _intelligent_ company. _Who is also not __**deaf**__._/

"They do contain incredible A-rank gems," Byakuran freely admitted.

Then he held up his own hand, revealing an identical cloudy pale-blue gem set into a silver ring with outstretched wings that were spread further than the wings on Shoichi's Fake Sun Mare Ring.

"But the 7 [to the power of 3] Policy is even more special. Forgive me, but I kept another group on the sly."

He withdrew his hand and opened his eyelids again.

"I kept them hidden because I thought you wouldn't be able to handle a meeting. But since we're enemies now, it should be fine. Allow me to introduce you. Here are the six true Guardians of the Millefiore Famiglia."

A holographic screen materialized above his and her heads.

Fran craned her neck around briefly to scan it.

Pictured on the screen, which had been split into 6 sections, were the other Funeral Wreaths' images.

Ghost (who she had vehemently disapproved of as a choice for the Lightning Funeral Wreath) was shown bound in chains and sunk underwater, his eerily glowing eyes and vivid yellow hair showing up out of the murk.

Kikyo and Zakuro were both shown smirking confidently into the camera, wearing their black Funeral Wreath coat-cloaks.

Daisy, dressed morbidly in a dark mourning suit, was shown staring with dead, dead eyes and clutching his beloved pink rabbit plush in a tight grip.

Bluebell was shown sleeping on a bed, donning a black Funeral Wreath cloak as well.

(After much nagging and scepter-whacking, Fran had finally gotten Bluebell to stop running around stark-naked all the time.

Granted, a one-piece black swimming suit wasn't much better, but it was still a step up, and at least it covered her modesty, right?

… Not that, you know, Bluebell _had_ much of a sense of modesty in the first place…)

/Byakuran, you creeper, that picture of Bluebell sleeping is definitely stalkerish.../

The sixth section was an empty black.

His eyes opened.

"The real six Funeral Wreaths."

"Real… the real six Funeral Wreaths? This is… who are they? This can't be… But wait, why is there an empty section?" they asked.

Byakuran smile-shrugged, and spread his arms out.

"Ah, that's my Mist. See, she's a little touchy about personal space and personal privacy and all that… If I just took a picture or filmed her without her knowledge, and then put it up there without forewarning her… well, bad things would happen. Lots of very, very bad things. Mists are vengeful little critters, aren't they?"

Fran twitched at his last sentence, and made a mental note to get back at him for that later.

"That doesn't answer the question, though…" Shoichi trailed off.

Byakuran slid a sideways glance at Fran.

'Well?' it seemed to say. 'What do you want to do?'

She sighed, the faint trace of irritation barely discernible.

Then she stepped forward and lifted up her hand lazily, removing the illusion formerly covering her fingers.

A Mare Ring with a violet gemstone glittered dully at them.

"Y-You're-!" Shoichi stammered, looking back and forth wildly between her and Byakuran. "B-But you and him are always arguing! How would you be his subordinate?'

Fran quirked her lips downward sharply, and withdrew her hand.

"I'm _no one's_ subordinate," she snapped out. "A Guardian isn't always _underneath_ their Sky, you know."

She left out the part about herself having a secondary Sky Flame.

If they'd forgotten about it, well…

… it always pays off to have a handy trump card, right?

Even if that trump card's a trump card that would utterly exhaust her if she used it too much or too often.

. . .

The holographic screen flipped to images of the six Mare Rings, highlighted by backgrounds that represented their Flame.

"They were chosen to be the bearers of the authentic Mare Rings, to help me create a new world. My true Guardians."

"No way… then the ones we've been fighting… were weaker than these guys?" the others muttered with disbelief.

"What's going on here?" Shoichi's voice rang out, high-pitched and uneasy.

Frightened.

"Wh-Who are they?"

"Shoichi…" Spanner mumbled around his lollipop.

"I don't know them! There were Millefiore members I didn't know of!?"

Fran raised an eyebrow.

"Well," she pointed out logically. "You know _me_, don't you? And you can't possibly expect us to believe that you thought you knew every single one of the Millefiore members. We have, like, over 10,000 and counting, what with the new recruits everyday and all."

Yup.

Once again.

Ignored.

/No, seriously, _why_ do I even _bother_ anymore?/

"It'd be harder on me if I gave you more to worry about."

Byakuran began to pace.

Shoichi's eyes tracked his every move.

"Allow me to explain. Shooting people by their strength will only take you so far. Because the power of the rings is built on resolve. So I searched within the Mafia all across the globe for strong fighters with extraordinary resolve. And I chose those whose resolve would transform into loyalty. The world's a big place. But that's the reason I was able to find them."

His eyes opened and looked up.

The holographic screen shifted to a picture of Zakuro.

"For instance…"

Now it was beautiful scenery and two small towns.

"This man hails from a very lovely homeland, full of nature, as you can see. But when I asked him to demonstrate his resolve…"

The picture shook and wavered, switching over to a charred landscape with raging fires shooting up in columns.

"What… is this…?" the young Decimo burst out.

Tilting his fedora down, the Sun Arcobaleno muttered darkly, "It's like a scene out of hell."

"He abandoned his homeland," Byakuran announced, sounding far too cheerful for the subject.

"Wh-What?" the younger Vongola Sun Guardian and Vongola Rain Guardian cried.

"How could someone…" the younger Gokudera exclaimed.

"Terrible…" the pompadour-wearing man mumbled.

"Scary, right? It was over in an instant. I didn't expect him to eradicate the village and the people he grew up with, just to show his loyalty."

The scene changed to a clip of lava streaming down a gorge.

"No way, that's insane…!" the young Decimo muttered.

/He seems to say 'no way' quite a lot. And people say _I'm_ pessimistic. Ah, well, those people are mostly dead by now, anyway./

Gokudera jerked his head up.

"Something's coming out of the lava!"

"Huh?"

"What?"

"An animal?"

"No," Fran murmured, mentally snickering at an inside joke. "But Bluebell certainly loves to call him an animal, what with his eating habits and all."

"Can't be," the young Takeshi Yamamoto denied. "That's magma."

"Yeah," the young Ryohei Sasagawa agreed. "A burning hell."

/Hell, huh? I wonder what it's like.../

No one noticed a certain lump of silver metal heating up against Fran's breastbone.

A certain lump of silver metal embossed with '6-6-6'.

. . .

"It would be impossible for any creature to survive in there," the pompadour man said.

/Well, if there are organisms in outer space, and organisms at the bottom of the ocean… nothing's impossible./

"But look closer!" Gokudera insisted.

The screen flipped to a picture of Zakuro enjoying the lava like a hot spring.

"Huh!? It's him! I-Is he taking a bath in the magma!? And he's whistling… this is absurd! it's impossible! He can't be human..."

"And why do you have a clip of Zakuro shirtless and probably naked in the lava?" Fran wondered aloud.

(Only to be brushed off, unheard.

/-Sigh-, I am so underappreciated for my witticisms./)

"You should understand the extraordinary power of the real six Funeral Wreaths now," Byakuran said conversationally.

The screen flipped yet again, until it displayed neat rows and rows of soldiers masked in white and dressed in White Spell uniforms.

"And each of them has been given 5,000 men and 100 chosen A-rank soldiers."

"100 A-rank soldiers?" Spanner repeated. "The six Funeral Wreaths were supposed to be the only A-rank members…"

"Oh, please," Fran retorted in a monotone. "Do you seriously believe that we managed to take over most of the world with only a measly handful of A-ranks? Or that we wouldn't go talent-scouting in the countries we take over?"

(And.

I.

G.

N.

O.

R.

E.

D.

Saying her thoughts was more for her own benefit now than anything else.)

"If you can defeat us, you can truly win. And the Millefiore will surrender to the Vongola."

At Byakuran's words, her lips pressed together a little thinner, but she didn't argue.

"Byakuran-san! A contest… what are you plotting!?" Shoichi confronted.

'Do you remember that Choice game we used to play?" Byakuran answered; a question for a question.

"Choice, you say!?" he shouted, one hands drawing up into a clenched fist.

"We'll be playing that in real life."

. . .

"In real life…?"

"We'll announce the details in ten days, so sit tight for now. We won't make a move before then. Kick back and relax."

Reborn jumped down, onto the floor in front of Byakuran.

"Don't be ridiculous. How are we supposed to relax after seeing that monster?"

/That's easy: you don't. And besides, Ghost's more of a monster than Zakuro will ever be. Maybe even Daisy. His shivering has always seemed a bit… faked./

Byakuran peered at Reborn through crescent eyes, smiling with mild amusement.

"Oh, you must be the Arcobaleno, Reborn."

Eyes opened to lavender.

"I'd love to chat. But it's almost time."

"Time?"

"The Merone Base you're in will soon disappear."

"Disappear?" Shoichi echoed.

The holograms began glowing white, vanishing and getting fuzzy around the edges.

"To be more precise, the Flame Ring Teleportation System within the base will move it."

"You mean the teleportation system that runs on Ring Flames?" Spanner clarified. "It's been completed?"

/No, he meant the teleportation system that runs on sunshine and rainbows and fairy unicorn sparkles./

"Only for objects of this size for now. A ridiculous amount of time and energy is required, so this may be the only chance you'll have to see it in your lifetime. See ya. Can't wait for these next ten days to be over."

In a flash of brilliant, blinding white light, the holograms disappeared.

Fran's sight went black again.

She took off the Headset and glanced at a wildly grinning Byakuran to her left.

"Now wasn't that fun, Francy-chan~?" he cooed eagerly.

"Still owe me a decent lunch," she reminded, shoving the Headset into his chest, unimpressed and unruffled.

* * *

_**#**_

_**#**_

_**#**_

_**An extra long chapter.~ :]**_

_**Check out 'Coincidence' if you haven't already for 10026 College!AU fluff.**_

_**Also, a new chapter of 'Slit' has been posted.**_

_**#**_

_**#**_

_**~Please Review.~**_

_**~I love reviews as much as Fon loves tea.~**_

_**(I mean, I **__**think**_ _**he likes tea, anyway…)**_


	25. Information

**Summary:**

_Fran's not dumb; she can tell she's only a replacement. She's Yuni's elder sister, but it was official that Yuni would be Boss after Aria died; it's clear everyone liked her kind, gracious and cheery attitude over Fran's indifferent, cold and cynical one. Yuni was the trusting, benevolent "Aria's daughter". Fran was the suspicious, bitter "spitting image of Aria's husband". She's even born with the "wrong" Flame; a strong primary Mist and a weak secondary Sky. But now that Yuni's vanished, Fran's the (grudging) Giglio Nero Boss, and will be the one meeting with Gesso. She's got a bad feeling about their Boss, though; Byakuran's intrigued by a Fran who differs from her parallel selves. Meanwhile, Yuni being gone has a greater significance than any of them realize. TYL!Fran, Fem!Fran, Very AU._

**Disclaimer:**

_KHR! rights go to Akira Amano._

_The cover picture is not mine. It belonged to an insanely talented deviantart artist who I have no way of contacting, so please don't sue me._

* * *

**Reviews:**

_Thank you, '__**Frances**_'_, for your review. Coincidental names, eh? :] 'Frances Amarante Brume' = Free Woman Everlasting Flower Mist = Fran. Just Fran. Of, well, the Giglio Nero (Black Lily). _

_Thank you, '__**SayaNightshade**_'_, for your review. That was mostly because I didn't want to change canon too much for the conversations, but yes, Ignored!Snarky!Commentator!Fran is a must-read. ;]_

_Thank you, '__**turtlehoffmann2251**_'_, for your review. Alas, 'tis the fate of the all of the realistic and down-to-earth WTF?ing characters because of 'anime physics'._

_Thank you, '__**Kat**_'_, for your review. I'm glad you liked it. Just don't break a leg while dancing, m'kay? That probably won't help you heal faster..._

* * *

**Quotes:**

"_It was about what you would expect from some accelerated genius elementary school students. Not very unique or innovative, but unique and innovative enough to suit our means and to not infringe on copyright." - Byakuran _

_. . ._

"_I mean, a giant fortress? So cliche. At least do it properly and add killer robots with laser beams of death." - Fran_

_. . ._

"_And just so you know, killing all those civilians will be terribly inefficient for our PR, as well as amount to a huge stack of paperwork that will inevitably end up as my responsibility…" - Fran_

"_Yes, yes, Francy-chan, it'll just be an evacuation. An excuse about some radiation leakage, send some Gray Spell escorts for persuasion, and bam! we're up 5 points in likeability and 'Good Samaritan' rankings. Happy?" - Byakuran_

"_You know me, Byakuran; I'm never happy." - Fran_

_. . ._

"_Aww, now don't be a sore loser, Francy-chan, just because this is the 2412th win in my favor. Out of, you know, 2412 total spars." - Byakuran_

_. . ._

"_I can also assure you that both my parents were most happily conjoined in matrimony when they conceived me, so no, I am not a bastard." - Byakuran_

_. . ._

"_But didn't you hear? Mafioso shouldn't need things like 'luck' backing them up; that just reeks of inexperience." - Fran_

* * *

_Knock._

_Knock._

_Knock._

The doors to the Gray Spell Training Room #16 slid open mechanically with a minor hiss.

"You called, Francy-chan~?" Byakuran poked his spiky white head of hair around the doorway, eyes open in curiosity.

Fran paused in the middle of a kata with her bo staff (the 'scepter extension' sphere-cap having been twisted off and set to the side, just as her hat and cloak had been in order to make way for a more suitable training outfit) to gesture him closer.

"Yes," she replied, fluidly moving into a high-kick and vicious downwards slice.

"It's been a day since the transmissions, where you mentioned the 'Choice' match, right? I called you over to ask about the game and to request a spar; ten days, or rather, nine days as of now, isn't very much to train. Plus, I remember you vaguely describing 'Choice' in passing mention a few times over the past years, but you've never really gone in-depth. Something about two bases and two targets?"

He sauntered over and reclined on the cold bleacher seats, resting his chin on his knuckles and leaning forward to smile down on the tealette, close-eyed.

"Ah, that. See, 'Choice' is a fun little wargame Sho-chan and I came up when we were students; something to pass the time with, when we first met in… elementary, was it? You fight by making multiple choices."

"Hence the name," Fran concluded, threading Hard Mist Flames up and down the twirling staff.

Byakuran nodded. "The players are divided into two armies with their pick of the battlefield. Each player composes a team of soldiers for their 'army'. They also select a home base position and personnel. A battle is engaged to determine the victorious side. The victor has their choice of the loser's possessions as a reward. _One_ reward."

"That's how the game goes?" she clarified tonelessly, with no indicator of what she was thinking.

"That's how the game goes," he confirmed, opening a new bag of marshmallows.

"That was a lot simpler than i was expecting. It sounds just like a game version of a real-life skirmish. What about the targets? I vividly remember you mentioning something about targets, because I caught you trying to stick marshmallow fluff all over the inside lining of my hat while using your rambling as a distraction."

"Well, it was originally a board game we created when we were bored. Give us some credit, would you, Francy-chan~? It was about what you would expect from some accelerated genius elementary school students. Not very unique or innovative, but unique and innovative enough to suit our means and to not infringe on copyright.

"But yes, that's not it. That's just the basics. You see, Sho-chan got so absorbed into the game, that he started adding a lot more elaborate events and conditions, until it ended up more complicated than our games of Monopoly: Special High-Tech Millefiore Version.

"Huh, it's been awhile since our last game, actually, what with that unpleasant business with the Varia invasion and the messy Meron base affairs and all… oh, oops, sorry Francy-chan, off-topic again. Yikes, alright, alright, I'll get on with the explanation, no need to glare at me while pointing your bo staff.

"So, after Sho-chan added all the extras, it ended up morphing into a computer game. Then he added more freedom, with a lot of other updates… And by the end of the game there was a giant fortress running around the display."

"I see," she intoned with mock graveness.

For about five milliseconds.

"Wow, Shoichi's got bad taste. I mean, a giant fortress? So cliche. At least do it properly and add killer robots with laser beams of death. Oh, wait, no, Spanner could probably help with that now, right?"

"Well, we were both young and inexperienced," Byakuran shrugged diplomatically. "It seemed cool at the time, and Sho-chan certainly was enamored with the graphics."

"And when it translates to real life…?" Fran trailed off.

Byakuran smiled, with a curl of sharpness leaking over.

"Oh, that's simple. We'll just have the Millefiore clear out a few cities as the battlefield choices."

She didn't glance up, and her voice remained level.

"I'm assuming you mean to twist the scenario into a show of power and ruthlessness to lower their morale? Psychological warfare? And just so you know, killing all those civilians will be terribly inefficient for our PR, as well as amount to a huge stack of paperwork that will inevitably end up as my responsibility…"

Pouting, he performed an exaggerated eye roll in her direction.

"Yes, yes, Francy-chan, it'll just be an evacuation. An excuse about some radiation leakage, send some Gray Spell escorts for persuasion, and bam! we're up 5 points in likeability and 'Good Samaritan' rankings. Happy?"

"You know me, Byakuran; I'm _never_ happy," Fran retorted with dry sarcasm.

(At least, he interpreted it as sarcasm to his ears.

Meanwhile, Fran probably didn't intend for it to be taken that way.)

"Anyway," he coughed fakely, "there are subtle differences between various versions, since a lot of improvisation is worked out during the game itself. The number of soldiers allowed is chosen before the battle starts. if one side fails to assemble the required number…

"... they lose."

He mimed tears and put on another pout, complete with thumbs-down on both hands.

Fran appeared dubious.

"Isn't that a little… too much? Then it's basically an one-hit loss. Not much of a game; at least, not the kind of drawn-out dramatic high-stakes games that you seem to prefer."

A careless shrug, and Byakuran returned to his former position, chin on knuckles and smiling.

"I suppose you could put it that way. The battlefield is also chosen before the battle, but in this case we won't have to worry about that. The required size of the battlefield, which is a diameter of 10 kilometers, fits perfectly for Sector J29's City #51. Our home bases have to be smaller than 50 square meters.

"I've taken the liberty to have one specially commissioned by the White Spell; it should be done in around 4 days, leaving 5 days for the Gray Spell to bulk up and add extra defenses. If that's alright with you? Marie-Anne and the rest of the Gray Spell captains were quite adamant about having all of my orders verified by their Spell Commander first."

"I'll talk to them later today," she affirmed. "What are the rest of the rules?"

. . .

"Ah, the base can be freely programmed and designed within your given funds"

"Programmed…? I'll probably recharge on a few 'Mist Batteries', and rig the entire places with Vi's dormant drones.. My last few days before 'Choice' starts will most likely be spent with some physical conditioning and a Flame ban, in order to fill up my reserves naturally and have all of the 'Mist Batteries' ready. Personally stored Flames always seem to be purer, and my Mist Flames are the purest in the Millefiore, anyway," she muttered, seemingly drifting off into her own faraway planning haze.

"Ahem…" he fake-coughed for the second time.

Fran lazily waved her bo staff in his general direction, incorporating it into a series of heavy strikes.

Taking it as a 'go-ahead, Byakuran continued.

"In this real-life 'Choice' game, the young Decimo and his Guardians will be one side, with their Rings and Boxes. The Funeral Wreaths will obviously be on the other side, representing Millefiore. Think of it as recreating a limited war.

"It'll be interesting to see what Sho-chan and the others attempt to whip up as their offense fortress; it'll have to double as lodging, naturally. Preparing an actual base in the real world will be challenge if all they have are their limited supplies. After all, they don't have much time and manpower."

"And of course _you've_ been planning this for… how long?"

"Long enough, Francy-chan, long enough. To be fair, though, I didn't authorize a start to the building of the base until yesterday, after I announced the 10 day countdown."

"But you probably had all the parts manufactured on the production lines and ready to be shipped off for assembly, right? I can remember a few strange custom-order parts being included in past reports from the factories."

"All the better to be prepared with. Didn't you like efficiency?"

"I just asked a question and gave an observation. No accusations here."

"Then my answer to that question would be 'yes'. Anyway, can I ask a favor of you?"

The skin around Fran's eyes tightened, minuscule, a nearly imperceptible sign of suspicion.

"As if you'd actually give me a say in the matter. What is it?"

"Oh, nothing much," Byakuran replied in a reassuring tone.

She stopped her katas and stared at him, most definitely not reassured in the slightest.

He sighed with faux sadness, clutching his hands to his chest theatrically.

"In a few days I'll be hacking into the Vongola's communication center to tell them the details. It'd be best if the Millefiore stands united, with both bosses. Come with?"

A beat of silence.

Then, a simultaneously resigned and monotone, "Fine."

"Now about that spar?" she reminded.

Grinning, Byakuran jumped down with a flourish-accented bow.

"Conditions?"

"No Flames or Box Weapons; anything goes otherwise."

_Clang!_

The titanium of Fran's bo staff reflected the blow of Byakuran's punch.

Undeterred, he leapt back and she similarly disengaged.

…

…

…

They dragged themselves out the doors three hours later, headed to the Infirmary, equally covered in scorch marks (because the 'no Flames' rule was _bound_ to be broken), and equally satisfied, even if they showed it differently.

"Up for another spar tomorrow?"

"Hells no."

"Aww, now don't be a sore loser, Francy-chan, just because this is the 2412th win in my favor. Out of, you know, 2412 total spars."

Yup.

Totally two respectable and feared Mafia Bosses.

Yuuuuuuuup.

(I know, I know; how did the world fall to _them?_

Answer: Combined insanity is better than one.)

* * *

"_This_ is what you've had the White Spell technicians work on for the last two days?"

Fran managed to insert an inflection of derision in her flat words.

Pouting, Byakuran took a spoonful of his ice cream sundae.

"You don't like it? I thought the animation and theme music was cute. Don't I look adorable in a chibi circus outfit?"

"Yes, because that's where you should belong," she deadpanned, pouring a large helping of guava preserves over her slice of frozen cheesecake.

"Ah, so mean~, Francy-chan. And after I paid for your dessert and everything… isn't this a date, then?"

"All the meals in the Millefiore base are _free_, so you didn't pay for anything other than perhaps labor, in which case we went Dutch, since I'm a co-Boss and therefore paid for the labor as much as you did. Plus, this is just us eating lunch alone on the Balcony. Which we do almost everyday. So how would this count as a _date?"_

She paused.

"Don't answer that."

He nodded absently, making a 'shush'-ing gesture with his hand that wasn't holding the spoon.

"Oh, wait, the video's starting."

The flat-screen monitor in front of them blinked into color, revealing the shocked faces of the younger Vongola X Generation.

And, you know, Reborn in a fairy outfit holding a lit-up wand.

('Cuz he's a troll like that.)

. . .

"Well? Was that amusing?" Byakuran asked cheerfully, a spoon sticking out of his mouth.

Fran gave a little half-hearted fingers-waggle from where she sat, across the table from her white-haired counterpart.

"Byakuran…" was the general murmur in the Vongola base.

"And _Fran_…" she complained with an eerily blanked face.

"I was bored, so I came to play," he explained.

Holding out a spoonful of marshmallow-flavored ice cream, he offered, "Want some?"

Gokudera snarled and clenched his fist.

"Bastard… you playing with us!?"

"Just kidding," Byakuran informed the silver-haired teen, happily eating the spoonful. "I can also assure you that both my parents were most happily conjoined in matrimony when they conceived me, so no, I am not a bastard.

"I'm actually making a courtesy call about 'Choice'. I said that I'd give you the details later, right?"

"As if you _had_ any courtesy," Fran sighed boredly, lacing her fingers together and resting her head on them.

"Be at Namimori Shrine at noon in six days," he instructed.

"In six days…" Takeshi whispered.

"Namimori Shrine…" Gokudera repeated.

"We're fighting in Namimori!?" Tsunayoshi shrieked.

Byakuran laid the flat of a palm against his left cheek, still smiling that close-eyed smile.

"Hmm… I wonder…"

His eyes opened and he pulled away his hand.

"For now, make the necessary preparations and bring everybody with you."

Lavender irises narrowed.

"You'll at least need to bring all of your friends who came from the past."

An immediate outrage was incited.

"What!?"

"All of them!?"

"Even Kyoko-chan and Haru?"

"What do you mean!?"

The constant smile turned down, into a rare frown.

"It's more meaningful this way."

"Gives you something to protect, you know?" Fran interjected.

She moved her fork tines in a leisurely circle, tracing it in the air for emphasis.

"You'll be disqualified if anyone's missing."

"Hold on a second!" Gokudera leapt forward, clearly furious.

Byakuran ignored him and glossed over the interruption, his eyes closing and the smile back on his face.

"Well, good luck with training then."

"But didn't you hear? Mafioso shouldn't need things like 'luck' backing them up; that just _reeks_ of inexperience," Fran couldn't resist adding.

They waved mockingly, in unison.

The screen blacked out.

* * *

_**#**_

_**#**_

_**#**_

_**Yup, things are picking up.**_

_**Argh, stupid PARCC testing tomorrow, and for the rest of the week.**_

_**As well as the track team starting up on Tuesday.**_

… _**Be prepared for sluggish or short updates, you guys. :[**_

_**And yes, I know that the chapter title's not a perfect fit, but hey, what else could I name it?**_

**_(I'm open to suggestions, actually.)_**

_**#**_

_**#**_

_**~Please Review.~**_

_**~I love reviews more than Fuuta likes ranking random and strangely useful topics!~**_


	26. Exasperation

**Summary:**

_Fran's not dumb; she can tell she's only a replacement. She's Yuni's elder sister, but it was official that Yuni would be Boss after Aria died; it's clear everyone liked her kind, gracious and cheery attitude over Fran's indifferent, cold and cynical one. Yuni was the trusting, benevolent "Aria's daughter". Fran was the suspicious, bitter "spitting image of Aria's husband". She's even born with the "wrong" Flame; a strong primary Mist and a weak secondary Sky. But now that Yuni's vanished, Fran's the (grudging) Giglio Nero Boss, and will be the one meeting with Gesso. She's got a bad feeling about their Boss, though; Byakuran's intrigued by a Fran who differs from her parallel selves. Meanwhile, Yuni being gone has a greater significance than any of them realize. TYL!Fran, Fem!Fran, Very AU._

**Disclaimer:**

_KHR! rights go to Akira Amano._

_The cover picture is not mine. It belonged to an insanely talented deviantart artist who I have no way of contacting, so please don't sue me._

* * *

**Reviews:**

_Thank you, '__**Kat**_'_, for your review. And as always, I hope the next chapters can live up to your expectations! However, a warning: character death/s in the near future, as well as much angsting. _

_Thank you, '__**ADDBaby**_'_, for your review. I will attempt my best to meet your expectations of 'ass-kicking' and general awesomeness. :]_

_Thank you, '__**Leez**_'_, for your review. Yup, but there's an explanation for that in this chapter; kinda. Well, it's just my theory, anyway. And I think that Byakuran also feared that the Vongola would destroy the Vongola Rings again. Losing them once, nd then regaining a chance only to lose them again, would really hit hard. I plan on making it a little more realistic, but I also plan on dragging it out until the final battle for plot reasons. Eh, decisions, decisions. At this point in time, it's more of: whom shall I kill off first?_

_Thank you, '__**SayaNightshade**_'_, for your review. If rebels thrive off of hypocrisies and black coffee, than genii thrive off of convoluted mind games that only make sense to them and that frustrate the hell out of anyone else. (Poor Fran, indeed… she has to deal with Byakuran's craziness every day.)_

* * *

**Quotes:**

"_Speak in a deep prophetic voice and intone it gravely while breathing in and out ominously. Oh, wait, no, there are parentheses around that." - Fran_

_She glanced up at the rest of the Funeral Wreaths, neatly sliding the index cards back into the Mysterious Illusion Pocket-DImension of the Puffy Mushroom Hat (copyrighted and trademarked by Giglio Nero Incorporations, reserved for usage by Bosses and Heiresses only). - Fran_

"_It is inefficient, but the whole point of being efficient is to clear away boring things to make way for more interesting things. And playing a little game definitely sounds more interesting than just sitting on our laurels and waiting around for who-knows-what. World domination is rather boring after a while… we've won and all, but peace as our prize does seem a little dull. Best get our fun in now, while we can, right?" - Fran_

"_Now, now, girls, you're both pretty. And funny that, Bluebell, you don't look particularly heartbroken. Besides, if you really broke your heart, you'd be dead." - Fran_

'_And what proof do I have?' - Fran_

'_Faith, trust, and pixie dust, Summoner.' - Vi_

'… _How you can say all of that with a never changing monotone I have no idea.' - Fran_

'_I'm sorry, I cannot answer that question under Box Animal Codex 39, Article 15, Page 44, Line 86, about plausible deniability and bluffing your way out of situations.' - Vi_

* * *

"Time to awaken… time of destiny… the promised time…"

Fran paused and shuffled through her note cards.

"Speak in a deep prophetic voice and intone it gravely while breathing in and out ominously," she read.

"Oh, wait, no, there are parentheses around that."

She glanced up at the rest of the Funeral Wreaths, neatly sliding the index cards back into the Mysterious Illusion Pocket-DImension of the Puffy Mushroom Hat (copyrighted and trademarked by Giglio Nero Incorporations, reserved for usage by Bosses and Heiresses only).

"So yeah, that's Byakuran's message."

Kikyo, Zakuro, and Bluebell all seemed to sweat-drop at her casualness, but Daisy apparently took it personally.

"Fran-sama has given… Fran-sama has given the time!" he spluttered out.

/Wow, just because I helped 'save' all of them or something, that automatically warrants an honorific? A _Japanese_ honorific while residing in an _Italian_ Mafia HQ as a variety of _international _races?

Byakuran did say that he traveled all over the world to find them… though Bluebell and Kikyo seemed rather close to us. Ordinary suburbs and ordinary metropolis, basically.

Zakuro's the [Classified] countryside, and where was Daisy again? Ah, yes, high-security insane asylum in [Classified]. And Ghost's, well, both from a parallel world and currently staying in Vendicare. [We try not to think of him much.]/

The green-haired boy, his age hard to place, and clutching a stitched up pink rabbit plush with white cottony stuffing bursting the seams, turned to Kikyo and Zakuro.

Who were, y'know, just chillin' and playing a few hands of poker like the totally not-villainous innocent not-Mafia members they were.

(Oops, scratch that. It's supposed to be: Who were scrutinising their cards as they battled it out in a dramatic match of wits and cleverness with all the seriousness befitting the villainous guilty Mafia members they were.

… Except that'd be a lie, and wasn't it written down somewhere that it's a sin to lie?

/Eh, whatever, I'm still agnostic, anyway./)

"Zakuro! Kikyo! It's time! It's time! Time to fight!"

. . .

"O-ho," Kikyo blinked.

/He sounded very British right then,/ Fran decided. /Does that sound stereotypical? Nevermind; I'm a French-Italian teal-eyed tealette being a Mafia Boss. I deserve the right to be as stereotypical as I want, and to make as little sense as I'd like. Which would be great and all, if I didn't feel obliged to be the [sadly ignored] only voice of _reason_ in this place.

I mean, seriously, we could've annihilated the Vongola resistance if given a few more years, but instead he chooses to go off by himself, not listen to anyone else, and just suddenly announce that, "Oh, hey, you guys-who-are-my-enemies-and-are-kinda-plotting-to-kill-me, why don't we just _pin all of our hopes _on a little game even though my side is totally winning our war and has all of these amazing hard-earned advantages~? Doesn't that sound _fun~?_

"And you don't need worry, because my co-Boss _whose opinion I never asked for and who I never alerted about this plan beforehand_ is definitely okay with this deal. Definitely. Uh-huh. Yeah. I'll just leave a taunting message and go off to stuff my face with marshmallows and bother the aforemenitoned co-boss _whose opinion I never asked for and who I never alerted about this plan beforehand~_."/

(You could probably guess who 'he' was, and how [and why] irritated Fran was with him. [Still not really anger, though; or maybe it _was_ anger, but she just couldn't recognize the feeling?])

Zakuro just snorted derisively.

"Idjit," he scoffed, before returning his attention to his cards.

"What to do?" Daisy muttered, not noticing the lackluster answers. "I'm getting all excited! Will I kill ten thousand today? A hundred thousand?"

As the ever responsible and dutiful 'babysitter' and leader of the Funeral Wreaths, as well as the only somewhat calm and sane Mare Ring wielder (other than Fran, who just didn't give a fuck about what goes on around her, as long she has her tea and her guava candies and her card games), the green-haired man stood up from his chair and began walking towards the trembling Daisy.

(Well, 'leader' whenever Fran decides she's not in the mood to deal with their general insanity and annoyingness, which was a large amount of the time.

It was mostly the annoyingness, because she's pretty much used to copious amounts of insanity, having coexisted with Byakuran for this long.

[The trick is to nod when it looks like she's supposed to nod, and then tune out everything he babbles.]

If she _did_ give orders, though, they'd undoubtedly follow them without any fuss; they respected her both as a very strange 'mother-figure' and as one of their 'saviors', like Byakuran.)

"Calm down, Daisy," he sighed.

"Huh?"

"Our opponents are few in number this time. I heard from Lord Byakuran that this is a ceremony of sorts."

"Really?"

But Daisy didn't dare to question his 'savior's' motives, so he simply sagged in visible disappointment, drained of his former nervous tension and skittish energy.

"I'm so disappointed," he mumbled dejectedly.

"Cheer up. Remind me to patch up Bubu [the pink rabbit] for you later, he's leaking stuffing again. I'll see what I can do about getting you assigned to a few demolition missions after 'Choice' is all over," Fran offered blandly, having slipped into Kikyo's emptied chair and thoroughly trouncing a resigned-looking Zakuro in poker.

(They were _all_ rather resigned whenever playing against her in cards. She was a freaking _card shark_, what with her extremely useful [and now mysteriously dulled, ever since… around the time when the younger Vongolas came…] 'Clairvoyance' and her sneaky habit of creating illusionary mirror reflections to show her her opponents' cards.)

"Though, it _is_ harder to find any rebel Famiglias in need of demolition nowadays; the Millefiore rule pretty much everything."

She suddenly twitched her lips downward in a not-quite-frown, simultaneously laying down a straight flush and collecting a few chips.

"Huh, I suppose I can now see what Byakuran's trying to accomplish with toying with the younger Vongolas," she admitted.

"It _is_ inefficient, but the whole point of being efficient is to clear away boring things to make way for more interesting things. And playing a little game _definitely_ sounds more interesting than just sitting on our laurels and waiting around for who-knows-what. World domination is rather boring after a while… we've won and all, but peace as our prize _does_ seem a little dull. Best get our fun in now, while we can, right?"

KIkyo shrugged, unsure if she really wanted an answer.

"As you say, Fran-sama."

. . .

Collecting another round of chips, the tealette rose from her seat and lifted off her hat, setting it on the poker table.

"As fond as I am of my hat, it might hinder me in 'Choice'," Fran explained to the inquiring glances. "I mean, and I've already changed out of my usual cloak and Gray Spell uniform, so I may as well go all the way."

Tugging briefly at the high-collared, black, trenchcoat-like Funeral Wreath jacket she was wearing (with much, much reluctance), she sighed.

"At least it's also warm. But if _any_ of you try and mess with my hat… well, it'd better be in perfect condition, right where I left it, when we get back."

(Underneath the trenchcoat-jacket was a light gray-and-white striped short-sleeve, as well as dark gray cargo capris. Black Flame Boots, reinforced for extra protection and kick, were her shoes.

Daisy remained in his darkly-colored suit, while Kikyo and Zakuro also had casual clothes under their trenchcoat-jackets and black Flame Boots.

Bluebell, on the other hand…)

"Bluebell, _what_ are you trying to do?" Fran sighed again, picking up her scepter.

"Whoo-hoo! It worked! Fran-nee-chan, it worked!" the bluette girl bubbled (no pun intended… or _was_ it?) cheerfully, flailing her arms around while underwater in her specialized 'water suspension pool'.

(Somehow, she was able to breathe and talk relatively normally, with only some watery reflection overtones.)

/It's totally a human fish tank. And _when_ will she stop _calling_ me that? Plus, she keeps trying to set me and Byakuran up, which is so obvious it's not even funny. Not that it was funny in the first place. Byakuran doesn't help, either, with all of his insinuations and going along with her matchmaking attempts. Figures./

"Eh?" Zakuro glanced up from shuffling the deck of cards, heavy-lidded with clear disinterest in the happenings of the Rain Funeral Wreath.

"Hey! Lookie-lookie! I've got lots of muscles now!" she announced, making a flexing pose.

/At least she finally stopped swimming around naked all the time, and took my advice on wearing a one-piece swimming suit if she insists on continuing to spend 75% of her time underwater./

The redhead's facial expressions lowered into a contemptuous sneer.

"That wouldn't be considered muscles, idjit."

Blue eyes narrowed in anger, her pupils dilating and eyebrows furrowed.

"What's that, Zakuro!? These are muscles! I worked out!"

By the sly look on the Storm Funeral Wreath's face, he disagreed, and had a retort ready in store.

"The way you're glaring… it's clear that you're nearsighted, wacko girl."

Bluebell made a sort of growling sound at the back of her throat, visibly fuming.

She swam upwards, bursting out of the water and leaning over the edge, her thin arms crossed in fury; half-climbing out of the tank, one leg was already swung over.

"Who are you calling a wacko girl, you knucklehead!? Say that again and I'll crack your skull open!"

Looking for back-up, she turned to the serene Cloud Funeral Wreath and the bored Mist Funeral Wreath for affirmation.

"Kikyo, Fran-nee-chan, you need to tell him, too! My heart is completely broken!"

Kikyo looked up at the mention of his name.

"O-ho. Zakuro is giving you trouble because he's jealous of how cute you are," he reassured.

Zakuro scoffed.

"In your dreams, idjit."

It was rather unclear who he was referring to as the 'idjit' out of the two; however, one could safely bet that the redhead would rather have the bluette's ire incited upon him than to be the one who finally got the green-haired man raging.

. . .

Fran repressed yet another sigh and stepped forward, her authority immediately given center-stage and their full attention.

"Now, now, girls, you're both pretty. And funny that, Bluebell, you don't _look_ particularly heartbroken. Besides, if you really broke your heart, you'd be dead. Kikyo, good peacekeeping skills, but you may want to work on not sounding like a total creeper and pedo because you've been going around complimenting underage girls," she drawled.

At the sight of Bluebell gearing up to protest more, the tealette added, "Yes, I'm aware that you aren't underage, and are indeed eligible to drink in most of Europe. I've unfortunately seen both you and Zakuro drunk before, at previous Funeral Wreath Game Nights, in foolish competitions of pride and 'drinking each other under the table'. By the way, Zakuro? You are _such_ a lightweight; Bluebell always wins, not that either of you remember anything the next morning."

The bluette girl scowled, now perched on top of the tank's rim, and glaring hotly down on the smirking redhead.

"Stupid, lousy Zakuro…" she muttered.

"I'll make you respect me!"

There was a low chuckle from the doorway.

. . .

Their heads all swiveled to see who it was.

Byakuran waved at them mildly with one hand, the other hand supporting a bag full of marshmallows.

He was dressed in the standard Funeral Wreath trenchcoat-jacket, with the black Flame Boots, and a white shirt and pants underneath.

"You guys are always having fun," he commented breezily. "Hey."

Fran suddenly appeared next to him, indifferent, with large butterfly Flame-wings sprouting out of the side of her hair like a very realistic clip.

The 'Fran' standing by the rest of the Funeral Wreaths disappeared without further ado.

"Real illusion, with a basic invisibility illusion," she informed them. "Don't worry, I'm filled up on Flames, and all of my 'Mist Batteries' are good to go, too. I've told you all about Vi, right?"

They nodded, with varying degrees of remembrance.

"Good enough," she pronounced.

With that over with, and now faced with their Sky as well as both Millefiore Bosses, the remaining Funeral Wreaths all performed the customary 'Millefiore salute', before walking towards them.

KIkyo lead the way.

"O-ho. I didn't expect you to grace us with your presence, Lord Byakuran."

/It's not really 'gracing'; I'd compare it to more along the lines of 'cursing' or 'ruining our day' or 'pestering'. Or maybe that's just me./

Fran privately contemplated that for a second.

/Nah./

Then she was catching up on what had just happened, with Vi helpfully providing a rewind.

"But of course," Byakuran smiled, striding forward as well, and raising up his hand to display the Sky Mare RIng.

"I'm a player this time, just like you guys."

/-le gasp!- He admits it! A 'player', huh? If taken out of context, I could _so_ run havoc with that./

He angled to the side, showing off his trenchcoat-jacket with closed eyes.

"See? I'm wearing a matching uniform."

-And everybody loves a guy in uniform, Summoner.-

/Is that a subtle nudge for my love life _whichis__**fine**__bytheway_ or is that just a reference as a result of you becoming increasingly corrupted towards sarcasm?/

-If by fine, you mean nonexistent.-

/Vi.../

-Apologies, Summoner. Software malfunction.-

/See, my problem with your recent surge in 'software malfunctions' is the fact being I can never tell if you're truthful or not./

-My programming was not encoded for deception, Summoner.-

/And what proof do I have?/

-Faith, trust, and pixie dust, Summoner.-

/… How you can say all of that with a never changing monotone I have no idea. Well, I now know what my deadpanning sounds like to other people./

-Pleased to be of service, Summoner. Would you like fries with that?-

/I'm just going to tune back in, now. Rewind?/

-Flashback installed.-

"Looking hot, Byakuran-nii!" Bluebell chattered away happily, running up.

"Show some respect, idjit!" Zakuro barked back.

"We, the real 6 Funeral Wreaths, are honored to stand by your side in the battlefield," Kikyo recited solemnly, easily glossing over the bickering in the background, courtesy of two certain hot-headed and short-tempered Funeral Wreaths who-shall-not-be-named.

/Did you insert commentary into the rewind?/

-I'm sorry, I cannot answer that question under Box Animal Codex 39, Article 15, Page 44, Line 86, about plausible deniability and bluffing your way out of situations.-

"However, there shouldn't be any need for you to dirty your own hands. We may be missing a member at the moment, but as humanity's strongest chosen warriors, bearing the greatest Mare Rings ever, and the ultimate Box Weapon…" Kikyo trailed off.

They all took up positions around Byakuran, striking suitably cool and casually intimidating poses.

"... We serve you, the devil."

. . .

-Back from the past, Summoner,- Vi helpfully alerted.

Fran blinked, and was greeted by the sight of the posed Funeral Wreaths (and Byakuran) staring blatantly at her.

She stared blatantly back, shameless.

"What?"

Kikyo fake-coughed.

"Er, Fran-sama, would you mind posing with us?"

"Yes, I would mind. _Why_ are you guys _posing_, anyway? I thought you were all killers, not models."

The Cloud Funeral Wreath looked sheepish.

"Ah, about that… see, Lord Byakuran sent us all a missive a while back, concerning how magnificent and that much more awe-inspiring we'd be to our enemies if we all struck a cool and casually intimidating pose beforehand. Plus, it helps with team dynamics. Like, our version of a morale-boosting 'circle of cheer', you know?"

"Che, 'circles of cheer' are for pussies and idjits," Zakuro scorned.

. . .

(Somewhere, in a parallel universe, a teenaged Tsunayoshi Sawada and his equally teenaged Guardians all sneezed.

"Oh no, are you guys okay? Are you guys getting a cold?" he fussed worriedly.

"O-of course not, Jyuudaime! I'd never betray your faith in me like that!" a scandalized-looking puppy-eared Gokudera exclaimed.

"Tch, pathetic herbivores. Carnivores don't get _sick_. Only weak herbivores do. Like you," Hibari dismissed, strolling away with his jacket flapping menacingly in the nonexistent breeze.

The brunette slumped and mentally cried.

'We'll never survive the rest of the Ring Battles and the Varia like this!')

. . .

Fran was speechless, such saturated in stupidity were those words.

"And this concerns me, how…?"

/I am _not_ going to do a weird pose just for some 'circle of cheer' thing. It sounds as lame and pointless as striking a hero pose before opening a Box Weapon does. So inefficient./

Byakuran pouted.

While fitting 26 marshmallows in his mouth as part of his 'lucky pre-game tradition' of 'Chubby Bunny'.

"Aww, come on, Francy-chan, don't be a spoilsport now~."

She stared at him flatly.

And deadpanned.

Before staring flatly again.

"No."

"I'll give you a bag of fresh guava hard candies imported from Brazil after the match."

/Damn. He really knew her, didn't he?/

Her mouth slanted downwards, Fran nonetheless grudgingly stepped closer and…

… just kinda stood there, looking off into space, and sorely missing her hat.

Everyone else seemed satisfied.

/Wait.

How long do we hold this for?

… This is one of those 'freeze-frame' 'fade-transition' scenes, isn't it?

Shit.

It is.

Argh, figures.

Curse my stupid bad luck.

Can luck be both bad and stupid?

Wow, I must be really bored if I'm debating this right now.

… No, seriously, how much longer?

.

.

.

This is _not_ worth a bag of guava candies, even if they _are_ freshly from Brazil./

* * *

_**#**_

_**#**_

_**Anybody catch the canon reference?**_

_**Yuni will be fully explained in a few more chapters, so just bear with me.**_

_**I actually got lucky today; because of the snow days last week, PARCC isn't starting until tomorrow, and the Girls' Track try-outs aren't until tomorrow, either.**_

_**As of this chapter's posting: 98 reviews. 2 more reviews until the next omakes! **_

_**#**_

_**#**_

_**~Please Review.~**_

_**~I love reviews as much as Iris and Lambo love ridiculous fluffy afros.~**_


	27. Commentation

**Summary:**

_Fran's not blind, and Fran's not deaf; she can tell she's only a replacement. Yuni was the trusting, benevolent "Aria's daughter". Fran was the suspicious, bitter "spitting image of that-guy-who-married-Aria". She's even born with the "wrong" Flame; a strong primary Mist and a weak secondary Sky. But now that Yuni's vanished, Fran's the (grudging) Giglio Nero Boss. Byakuran's intrigued by a Fran who differs so drastically from her parallel selves. Meanwhile, Yuni being gone has a greater significance than any of them realize._

**Disclaimer:**

_KHR! rights go to Akira Amano._

_The cover picture may or may not be mine, depending on which one I'm using. I tend to switch frequently. In case it isn't mine, then this is a general disclaimer for that. So, yeah. Don't sue me, please._

**Note:**

_/insert words here/ are thoughts._

_Assume__ that they are speaking Italian unless otherwise stated or implied. Fran is canon-ly French, so her father here is French, and she is fluent in it. When stressed and cursing, whether out loud or mentally, she has a tendency to slip and slide back into French. __So, congratulation, you will probably be picking up an assortment of French profanity._

* * *

**Reviews:**

_Thank you, '__**SayaNightshade**_'_, for your review. The PARCC was actually really easy, as I found out today. Just three more days of doing standardized testing for 30 minutes and reading for the rest of the ridiculously long allotted testing time. :] And I might actually make those suggestions into omakes later on._

_Thank you, '__**ADDBaby**_'_, for your review. I will pretend that I get that reference, and just bask in the glow of another review. :] But seriously, thanks for reviewing, and especially for being the 100th reviewer. Is there any particular one-shot on my to-do list on my profile that you'd like to see published sooner?_

_Thank you, '__**Kat**_'_, for your review. And here's Yuni, as promised. :] As for the endings, there'll be a __**lot**_ _of alternative endings. Like, I'm not even going to label which one is the Replacement-verse canon!ending (well, probably not). There'll just be a whole bunch of different parallel world endings to this._

_Thank you, '__**Arciia**_'_, for your review. yes, couldn't you tell? It's a real-life conspiracy of the Illuminati. :0_

_Thank you, '__**Prince-ZuChiRu**__, for your review. Glad you liked it._

_Thank you, '__**turtlehoffmann2251**_'_, for your review. Vi's just that lovably awesome, I suppose. ;]_

* * *

_~Far up on a certain place called 'Death Mountain', several exotic species sprawl everywhere, be it an especially ferocious breed of Flame-resistant feral bears, or an especially colossal type of Flame-attracted carnivorous plants. It is often acknowledged as Vongola property, despite dubious claims of ownership, mostly because no one else really wants to waste the effort, time, and resources to squabble over what is mostly viewed as an untameable, useless piece of land. Pretty scenery, but not much else. As for the Vongola, it is another one of their eccentric traditions for a Boss-in-training to survive an unspecified term of time 'roughing it' on the rugged landscape._

_Love-in-a-mist__ is an ethereal-esque flower, it's large petals coming commonly in shades of blue reminiscent of the renown mystical Fae. Also called by 'ragged lady', love-in-a-mist is actually a part of the buttercup family (Ranunculaceae), and are naturally found thriving within damp, neglected patches of land._

_It can be analyzed to mean **perplexity**.~_

* * *

"How rude. Calling people 'freaks' to their face. At least have the decency to do it behind our backs." - Fran

* * *

"_I said to bring everyone with you. Some people are missing."_

Fran takes one look at the gigantic holographic face (projected by Byakuran out of an ominously swirling black vortex over the Namimori Shrine).

She 'tsks'.

"Drama llama," she mutters, fingers itching to reach up and adjust her hat, a reflexive habit that no longer works, seeing as her hat had (sadly, with as much regret as she could feel) been left behind at the Funeral Wreaths' base.

"I mean, seriously? Who would create a rip in the space continuum just for the sake of broadcasting a huge hologram of their face for intimidation purposes, other than Byakuran himself? _Va_-in."

. . .

"_Oh well. You'll be the ones who suffer by crunch time."_

Another pause.

"If he _had_ to waste time by making the Millefiore tech troops build that floating head along with the Transportation System, he _should've_ at least thought ahead to add in visuals and audio. We can't even tell what the Vongolas' reactions are. It's like only being able to hear snippets of an old movie," grumps the Mist Funeral Wreath, clasping and unclasping her scepter.

"I'm sure that it simply slipped Lord Byakuran's mind," Kikyo quickly soothes. "He _is_ a very busy man, after all."

"I do more actual work than he does, and we share the same rank," she deadpans in reply, unconvinced.

. . .

"_You haven't gotten over your habit of jumping to conclusions, Sho-chan. This is a new method of transportation that was just completed. You've also seen it before. This machine will take you to the stage where 'Choice' will happen. The Flame Ring Teleportation System."_

"So he's talking to Shoichi…?" she muses, thoughtful. "Probably trying to provoke an amusing response out of riling up the little Vongolas."

Bluebell shifts, suddenly, hopping from one foot to the other with her arms crossed.

(... while also nearly stumbling over the dragging edge of her Funeral Wreath trenchcoat-jacket.

One of the many perils of awesome-but-totally-impractical-super-evil-villain-uniforms.)

"Hey, Fran-nee-chan?" the bluenette curiously asks. "What's your attitude towards the traitor, anyway? Byakuran-nii doesn't seem that upset. I thought they really close childhood friends or something?"

None of the other Funeral Wreaths move or speak up, but Fran can still sense them waiting for her answer

Anticipating.

(Gossiping old ladies, the lot of 'em, no matter how fervently some [all] would deny.)

"I don't care," she states, plain and simple, with a careless shrug.

"He's a genius, and it's highly unfortunate that Spanner is devoted enough to follow him in desertion; now the Millefiore has lost two extremely efficient genii. However, we're large enough and skilled enough to absorb the losses, as well as independently structured enough that we didn't rely on them for too much. Meaning, the Millefiore _itself_ won't be affected beyond a few reassignments and extra hacker as well as sabotage sweeps.

"As a captain, there weren't many who pledged allegiance to _him_ specifically, rather than Byakuran. He was respected, yes, and maybe even well-liked, but they've always just naturally _gravitated_ towards Byakuran more; it's the 'Sky Attraction' at work, partly, and partly because, well, even I can't deny that he has charisma."

Fran shoots them all a meaningful _Look_, and they hastily promise to not relay that particular tidbit to their white-haired leader.

Satisfied for the time being, she continues with the steady pace of one reciting facts out of a textbook.

"As a _person_… Byakuran's been expecting Shoichi to betray him for a while, probably from the start. I'm fairly sure that he genuinely likes Shoichi as a friend, though, and was stung by his desertion. He's not exactly _over_ it yet, but I have to admit that he's doing a very good job at pretending he is. That's all I'm saying about that; the rest, you'll have to ask him yourself. Keep my words out of it, though. I'm not looking for any guilt by association.

"I, on the other hand… hmm… how to say this? He's efficient, and even occasionally interesting, once he gets over that annoying stutter. He's not overly irritating, and when he is, it's not on purpose. I didn't antagonize him, and I didn't go out of my way to do anything more than a nod in the hallways and maybe a brief exchange. If I had to, I would've killed him, but not without good reason for eliminating a tolerable ally.

"We got along decent as colleagues, and losing him to the opposing side wasn't noticeably beneficial, especially since he led much of the Internal Tech Revolution, and was the one who did my early upgrades. The information possibly gleaned might be outdated, but not all of it isn't still relevant, and I'm leery of having sensitive information lying in the enemy's hands, although hopefully they'll be too naive to ask after it. Now that _he's_ an enemy, however, I still won't hesitate to kill him, if that's what you mean."

Examining her Mare Ring, Fran polishes it slightly with her sleeve.

"Does that answer your questions, Bluebell?"

The Rain Funeral Wreath makes an iffy sound.

Fran's counter-question is effectively an order to shut up and leave her alone to think, so it's not like Bluebell can push the issue any farther.

When Fran's says 'shut up', you _shut the hell up_, unless you're Byakuran.

As in, insanely stubborn and unfairly powerful, with just enough talent for irritation to piss her off into speaking.

(So yes, unless you're Byakuran.)

"I guess so, Fran-nee-chan."

. . .

"_Yep, got that right. But as you know, this device isn't easy to activate. It also serves the role of testing to see if you're qualified to participate in today's 'Choice'. In other words, five million Fiamma Volts. We need **that** much Flame pressure to transport you to the chosen stage for 'Choice'."_

Zakuro lets out a low whistle, impressed by the large number.

"Five million, huh? That's a whole damn lot."

Bluebell, ever eager to pick a fight with the redhead, sneers and places her hands imperiously on her (lacking) hips.

"Maybe it is for _you_, as a moronic _knucklehead_, but Byakuran-nii could _easily_ reach that! Fran-nee-chan, too," she adds as an afterthought.

(Truth be told, nearly all of the Funeral Wreaths acknowledge their Sky as the most powerful among them, and their Mist as second-most powerful, by virtue of logic, reliability, experience, seniority, and the general mastery of mindfuckery that is assumed to be a universal Mist trait.

Master Skies can pound you into _dust_ in a blink of the eye.

Master Mists can pulverize your mind into nothingness _with_ a blink of the eye.

Master Skies can charm you into allying through Sky Attraction.

Master Mists can con you into surrendering on the cusp of victory, buying a time-share on Mars for the 13th month of every leap year, proposing to an arch-nemesis, and handing over your wallet, gelato, Social Security number, title deeds, and firstborn child to a stranger on the street, through brazen truth-lies.

Fran's power is just... much more subtle and commonly used than Byakuran's, so they've grown used to it, and it takes a bit of conscious remembering to add her in.

['Nearly all', because they aren't sure of Ghost's mental capability for thought and reason.

Byakuran might know, but there's no way anyone's going to ask about it anytime soon.])

He growls, crimson wisps threading themselves around him, the air shimmering as a result of the faint heat.

"_Wacko_ _girl_, I _never_ said that I _couldn't_ reach five million Fiamma Volts! Hah, I bet that I'd do it faster than _you_, anyway. _Idjit._"

Watery blue wisps begin gathering around Bluebell as well, causing a minor slow-down effect.

"_Who are you calling a **wacko girl** and **idjit!?**_"

Thump.

Thump.

"Ow, ow, ow…" they hiss in unison, briefly stopping to swap glares for 'copying' the other.

"Do I need to knock you two in the head again?" Fran drawls, pointedly raising an eyebrow, and brandishing her staff with a vague sense of menace.

They grumble something indecipherable under their breaths.

_Thump._

_**Thump.**_

"_No,_ wait, you _don't_ have to-!/_Ow,_ stop it!"

A scoff.

"Now if only I didn't need to repeatedly whack that lesson into your thick skulls…"

Kikyo looks on and smiles genially, humming lightly.

/_How nice to see them all getting along._/

Daisy mutteres to himself with crazed eyes, gripping his rabbit plush in a stranglehold.

/_Killkillkill**exterminate**killkillkillkillkillkillkill**raze**kill**destroy**kill**immolate**killkillkill**stab**kill**fire**-_/

. . .

"_A **ridiculous** amount of Flame pressure is still necessary to use this transportation system. I'd say that it's reasonable to expect you to provide the Flame yourselves. You could say it's a ticket for participating in 'Choice'. Produce Flames without any barriers, and the device will pick them up. Oh, I don't mean to scare you or anything, but if you fail, I'll be so disappointed that I'll have to take your town… and do this to it."_

Fran watches the energy output levels of the Giant-Byakuran-Head (henceforth knows as G.B.H.) peak before drooping.

"He used the built-in laser beam eyes, didn't he?" she questiones in a flat, resigned tone, twisting it into an unsurprised statement.

"Lord Byakuran just did, Fran-sama," Kikyo confirmes with an affable nod.

/_Scare tactics again? _

_Byakuran does love his psychological warfare… how long do you think it'll take the Vongola to figure out that we're already at the battlefield, and thus didn't have to pay the 'ticket' like they did? _

_Funny-not-really, one would believe that after knowing the Millefiore for this long, they'd have expected us to rig the whole thing already._

_ Especially with Shoichi and his intel on our general thought habits._

_Then again, he's always been hopelessly naive. _

_It's true that, Byakuran won't interfere directly in 'Choice', because what's the enjoyment out of doing that? He doesn't want predictability, and to be frank, neither do I. _

_Predictability is safe and **efficient**, but not particularly **interesting**. Too **boring**._

_However, Shoichi never said anything about interfering indirectly beforehand. _

_And even with my rather sketchy ethics, I'm fairly certain that preselecting the battlefield, ensuring that the battlefield would be chosen, getting us here without wasting a lot of energy, and forcing the opposing side to waste a lot of energy, counts as sabotage. _

_Oh, well, as long it keeps my attention… _

_Life, even Mafia life, gets terribly dull._/

-Based off of their outdated profiles on how the Vongola X Generation acted in their early teen years, they will probably never figure it out, Summoner. Impulsivity and blind faith in their allies will cause them to trust Shoichi's word without too many pesky questions.-

. . .

"_Oh, sorry about that. My face slipped. Now start pushing out Flames quick. There's only a little time left before noon, the scheduled time. Time will be up when the light from my face disappears. Now come on. What's wrong? You scared? ...Oh? I'm glad that you respect the rules. But it sounds like an excuse for not being able to produce five million Fiamma Volts. But you're out of time. Hmm? Oh? What is this?"_

There is a beep, and then one of the lights plugged in nearby blinks off.

"Eh? Fran-nee-chan, Fran-nee-chan, the projection was blasted through!" Bluebell hastily alerts the Mist Funeral Wreath, chewing on her bottom lip with worry.

Fran simply waves her hand dismissively in reply, unconcerned.

"It'll come back on in a second. The Vongolas haven't arrived yet, meaning that Byakuran will just reboot the projector. He'll probably want to taunt them a bit more, poke at a few sore spots, and basically have them off-balance and tense when they _do_ arrive. But _wow_. 'My face slipped'? What sort of a bad excuse-slash-pun is _that_ supposed to be? Though, I guess even people giving awfully cliche and overused evil villain speeches are allowed to have their cheesy moments."

Everyone is mostly used to her critical commentary by now.

(They still sweat-dropped.)

/_Are you seriously planning on giving Lord Byakuran/Byakuran-sama/Byakuran-nii advice for a better **monologue?** Wait, do you serious expect __Lord Byakuran/Byakuran-sama/Byakuran-nii to **say** another monologue?_/ they wonder in unified disbelief.

(Except for Daisy.

/_Killkillkill**topple**killkillkillkillkillkillkill**wreck**kill**erase**kill**obliterate**killkillkill**sever**kill**flame**-/_

Yeah.

Except for him.

[Bubu's thoughts, if he/it/she{?} could think: /_Why the hell do **I** get the maniac as my owner?_/)

But sure enough, the light flicker back on a few more moments later.

. . .

"_Over five million Fiamma Volts… Hmm, you pass. Then let's get down… to starting 'Choice'. The first choice will be the selection of a battlefield. On account of your **wonderful** Flames, I'll yield the choice of battlefield to your side. You've heard the rules of 'Choice' from Sho-chan, right? 'Choice' is a game of choices. Battlefields and combatants must be chosen before you can begin. The outcome is largely determined by fate. Now draw a card, Tsunayoshi-kun. That will be the choice you have made."_

/_'Wonderful Flames'? He makes it sound like he **ate** them or something. I wonder what Flames would taste like?_/

-A horrible, fiery, burning pain, Summoner. Most likely ash and cinders and pure heat as they scorch and crisp the delicate flesh of one's throat, too.-

/_I meant Flames with a capital 'F', as in Flames of the Sky._/

-My apologies, then, Summoner, for the error. If I were to venture a guess, I'd say that the taste of the Flames would vary by type, and whether or not they're yours or someone else's. Your own Flames, once you have enough basic control, will not burn you.-

/_Spicy for Storm, maybe? Soothing water for Rain, or sleeping drugs. [Does that mean that all Rains are secretly addicts?] Maybe carbonation or steam or hallucinogens for Mist, and fluffy cotton for Cloud? Hah, imagine the face that the infamous Kyoya Hibari would make if he discovered that his Flames taste like marshmallows._

_ And of **course** 'Choice' is 'a game of choices'. It's literally **in** the name. Though I suppose in this case it's more like a very strange Capture the Flag match? Well, 'fate', shmate. All of the cards are Lightning cards. Not much of a fateful choice, in my opinion. A rigged one? Most definitely._/

-Summoner, Byakuran has given the warning code. He just said, 'Let's go then.' The Vongolas are about to arrive; the rest of the Funeral Wreaths are preparing to leave.-

_Click._

Fran glances up at the opening sound of a door, her hands automatically curling tighter around her scepter.

Byakuran steps cheerfully out of the Transportation System Control Room in their base.

Whistling a jaunty snippet of tune, his hands are in his pockets, appearing to be the epitome of relaxed optimism.

"They're here!" he announces, kicking his feet forward to dramatically 'kickstart' his Flame Boots, casually hovering over the floor. "Shall we go and greet our guests now? It's only _courtesy_, after all."

A decidedly wicked edge lines the emphasized word that he all but _purred_ out.

There are obligatory, cursory murmurs of agreement all around, and the 'swoosh' sounds of other Boots activating.

Staying silent, the tealette rises noiselessly into the air and waits for the cue, her face impassively clear.

(The Mist Mare Ring is displayed in full view, unmasked by illusions.)

Dropping off the edge of their base, the Millefiore team savor the adrenaline rush of diving for a few, exhilarating seconds, before sharply pulling up and heading in synchronization for the drop-location of the Transporter.

Soon touching down on the building top, they wait quietly for some of the already-present smoke to dissipate.

It was mildly amusing, in a vaguely sadistic sort of way, to hear the disoriented and harried yelps sent out from within.

Then Byakuran strides forward, eyes gleaming teeth bared long legs lithe limbs lanky leisure lope, Funeral Wreaths dutifully flanking both sides.

"_Hello_, Tsunayoshi-kun. Welcome to the 'Choice' arena. Have you enjoyed the scenery so far?"

* * *

Smiling a Cheshire grin, the white-haired man remains unruffled by their loudly gasped observations.

/_So this is the younger Vongola X Generation? And the younger Sky Vongola Ring bearer. Ah, I'm so excited. So, so **excited**. The **game** is about to begin._/

"It feels like we've met many times… But is this the first time you've met me in person, ne, Tsunayoshi-kun?"

Behind him, he knows that Zakuro will be inspecting his cuticles, Daisy will be clutching his 'Bubu', Kikyo will be serenely holding a random flower, Bluebell will be hungrily taking in the sight of their opponents, and Fran will be looking bored.

Business as usual.

"Ah! Th-There they are! Byakuran and the real six Funeral Wreaths!" Tsunayoshi shriekes.

/_Always such amusing reactions you have, no matter which age or world._/

"No, we're obviously all ghosts who have come back from an eternal hell to haunt your dreams and terrorize your waking world with horrible puns and awful attempts at seeming nonchalantly cool and evil by striking anime-esque poses," Fran deadpans.

"Wh-What!?"

The stilted, 'oh-my-_kami_-Tsuna-did-you-actually-_believe_-that?' silence is broken by the child in the cow-print.

(Francy-chan will undoubtedly refer to him as 'that frankly disgusting snot-nosed calf', if she ever deigns to refer to him at all.

She doesn't like children much.

No patience for them.)

/_Oh~? The younger Bovino~? Seems like he really **did** start his habit of wearing cow-patterned clothes in childhood._/

"Wah! They're kinda scary!"

Jumping out of the younger Chrome's arms, Lambo scurries to hide behind Gianini.

"I'm on this side!"

"This is where we'll be fighting," Byakuran smoothly glides on.

"Huh? Here?"

"That's right," he answers Tsunayoshi with an encouraging (and more than a little condescending, not that Tsunayoshi can tell) smile. "Don't you think it's a _fine_ location?"

"Huh?"

The Vongola Decimo glances up and off to the side, all wide-eyes and girlish features and enormously fluffy hair.

"W-We can't possibly fight in a place with so many people!"

His innocence is almost cute, in a pathetic, 'you-won't-last-a-day-in-the-slums-of-the-Mafia' kind of adorability.

Like a pitiful puppy floundering helplessly in a river who's _obviously_ going to die, but is so _thick_ that it just can't comprehend that simple fact of life.

In other words, _way out of his depth._

/_Huh, my thoughts seem to be resembling Francy-chan more and more_./

"I thought you might say that, so I got rid of all the people. Wasn't that so nice of me?"

"Huh?" is all that Tsunayoshi can say, startled.

"Wha-?" Gokudera echoes.

Yamamoto also glances up, his eyebrows furrowing, lacking his trademark cheer.

/_Careful, your 'natural assassin' is showing._/

"Now that you mention it, the place _is_ awfully quiet."

"Especially when you consider that we're in the middle of a metropolis," inputs the infamous 'Poison Scorpion' Bianchi.

"No signs of crowd chatter or traffic noise," reports Basil.

"Or birds…" whispers Chrome fearfully, probably more scared for the animals than the people, not that she'd ever say as much, anyway.

Byakuran keeps smiling.

/_Ah, their expressions… so entertaining! The Vongola always seem to be endlessly entertaining, young or old. If only they weren't always endlessly irritating as well, what with their constant 'liberation' attempts and rebelling and all. Can't they appreciate what I've done, what I'm about to do? Francy-chan even sees some merit to it, and she's certainly not dicey with her critiquing and Clairvoyance. Oh, well, a **game** is no fun without an opponent, so all's well that hopefully ends well._/

"We're the only people in this place," he informs them.

Smile, smiled, smiling.

"Huh?"

"What do you mean-?"

"Is 'huh' all that you can say?" Fran interjects tonelessly, cutting off Gokudera's question. "That's the fourth time you've said it in the last… oh, minute or so?"

Flustered, Tsunayoshi draws back, restraining a struggling Gokudera who is thirsting to 'avenge his Jyuudaime's honor and pride'.

Shoichi slides into the conversation, real calm and cool, pushing up his glasses with a serious expression.

"A battlefield made especially for 'Choice'."

It isn't a question.

So they don't answer.

Fran hums flatly, sounding similar to a buzzer, but doesn't pipe up again.

"Well, we'll explain everything in due time," Byakuran shrugs.

Smiling, smiled, smile.

. . .

At his side, in front of Fran, Bluebell halfway covers her mouth and snickers.

"Boo! Puh-_leeze!_ They're just a bunch of _kids!_"

Gokudera curls one hand into a fist, angrily glowering at her.

"What!? _Damn you_…"

"Too late, we're already damned, most likely," Fran mumbles softly under her breath.

(Byakuran is fairly sure he's the only one to hear her words; and even then, it's accidental. But what did his fun-to-tease, _interesting_ Francy-chan mean by a statement like that?

Ordinarily he'll put it down to plain old cynicism and sardonic humor, yet as far as he knows, Francy-chan isn't the type to linger on concepts like damnation.

She claims she's agnostic.

So why does she feel she's damned? And why are there actual traces of genuine bitterness mixed in her voice?

See? 'Interesting Francy-chan' was indeed interesting.

He has a great fondness for interesting things.)

Bluebell stares scornfully back at the Vongolas.

"Boo, I can handle this lot by myself," she boasts, nothing but utter conviction in her words.

Slicing her arm upwards over her head, Rain Flames rapidly cluster in front of her fingers, morphing her hand into a whip-like blade of water.

The Vongolas look shocked.

"Wh-whoah, her _hand! _I-It just, it just, just," Tsunayoshi splutters, at another loss for fitting words.

A strong cord lashes out, wrapping tightly around the water-blade.

"O-ho. Don't be hasty, Bluebell. Lord Byakuran has been looking forward to this party," Kikyo smiles peacefully, idyllic, almost, as if he wasn't strangling an ally's arm with a vine only a few inches away.

"We should enjoy ourselves."

(Everyone on the Vongola side immediately marks him down as someone to be careful of; _clearly_ he isn't in his right mind, if he can threaten a friend with an look better suiting making flower chains in a Swiss meadow.)

He releases the vine, and Bluebell reluctantly loweres her arm, sulking.

(A sharply disapproving elbow-nudge from her Fran-nee-chan increases her sulkiness.)

"N-Now what!? I-In an instant… no, not even an instant. What just happened!? Not to mention that magma bath... Are these freaks even human!?"

"How rude. We can hear you, you know. You're only a few yards away," Fran scolds the younger Gokudera, sardonic. "Calling people 'freaks' to their face. At least have the decency to do it behind our backs."

The younger Hibari merely sniffs disdainfully and raises a tonfa, lighting a small Cloud Flame at the top, eminently itching for a good fight.

(More like a beat-down, in his current state.)

"O-ho."

Kikyo sounds amused.

An amused Kikyo never bodes well for those not lucky enough to be called 'Byakuran' or 'Fran'.

"My Cloud Guardian counterpart appears to be you, in the school uniform. I am Kikyo. A pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"Enough chit-chat," Hibari sneers. "Let's get started."

. . .

Byakuran interrupts.

Smiled, smile, smiling.

"But we can't do that yet, _Hibari-chan_."

(Hibair tenses up at the, the, the _mockery_ of his name.

_No one_ calls him by -_chan_.

Not even his infuriating carnivore mother or carnivore father.

The marshmallow herbivore will _pay_ for that.)

He lifts up a golden gyroroulette from who-knows-where, lit ablaze with brightly burning Sky Flames crowning it's visage.

"This is 'Choice'. We have to proceed to the next choice," he explains with exaggerated patience, in a 'well, _duh_' tone of voice.

"Wh-What is that!?" shouts Tsunayoshi.

Looking stricken, Shoichi mutters, "It's a _gyroroulette_", like somehow that made everything else make sense.

(Well, it makes sense to the preinformed Wreaths, just not to the uninformed Vongola.

Oops.

Sucks for them, hmm?)

Walking forward a few steps, Byakuran stops in the middle of the two forces.

"I'll make it easier for everyone to see."

The gyroroulette's sides shine brightly, projecting two holographic screens with symbols, one behind the Funeral Wreaths, and one to Byakuran's right side.

"What's with the list of symbols? This one is Millefiore… this one is Vongola… these represent our individual elements?"

It also isn't a question.

So they also don't give an answer.

(When will they learn that they aren't getting answers, because they aren't asking the right questions?

Always the _wrong_ questions.)

Raising his hand with the Mare Ring, so that his palm is facing Tsunayoshi, Byakuran shows it to them.

"Place the hand with your Ring on the side with the gears, Tsunayoshi-kun."

"Huh?"

"Here, like this," he demonstrates, laying his palm flat against his side of the gears.

Tsunayoshi, determined, walkes forward as well, and hesitantly lays his hand with his Vongola Ring onto the gears.

Their height difference is plainly highlighted.

(Yet another power play, less subtle than before.

If you are watching for them.

Many of them aren't.

That's only the start of their mistakes when dealing with Byakuran.)

"L-Like this?"

"Spin the gears right when I say 'Choice'.

"Huh? H-Hold on-"

Bulldozing over his protests, the white-haired man spins the gears, his smile curling deviously into a smirk for a split second.

"Choice."

The Vongola Decimo makes a startled, choking noise, lurching back, but it's too late.

The gears of destiny are already spinning, spinning, spinning…

Numbers start clicking into place on the screens.

"Hmm, they're stopping," Byakuran remarks nonchalantly.

His devil's smirk smoothes out innocently into an angel's smile.

Smiled, smiling, smile.

"And it's decided."

"Huh?" seems to be the only thing Tsunayoshi is capable of uttering at the moment, once again, so great was his shock.

"The participants in the battle," he spells out for the brown-haired teen.

. . .

"Wh-What is this?" Tsunayoshi demands.

Back at the Funeral Wreaths' side, Fran taps her scepter on the floor, attracting their attention.

"Oy, weren't you listening at all? Byakuran literally _just_ said that they were the participants in the battle. The _participants_," she emphasizes, "that _you_ just chose. Take responsibility, won't you?"

Blushing to the tips of his ears, partly because of the lightly implied innuendo, Tsunayoshi forces down the searing heat in his cheeks and cleares his throat, deciding to ignore that comment.

"There are a bunch of numbers lined up," he notices.

"Next to the element symbols..." Shoichi breathes. "I see! The numbers say how many participants are allowed for each element!"

"You sure are a quick one, Sho-chan," Byakuran compliments pleasantly. "That's right. The gyroroulette determined the number of combatants from each element on the battlefield."

"The number depends on the element?" Yamamoto repeats.

"And the total number is different between Vongola and Millefiore," the Vongola Decimo notes.

"That's the fun part about 'Choice'," Byakuran agrees happily.

Smiling, smile, smiled.

"Vongola will be sending one each from Storm, Rain, and Null, huh? Good draw, Tsunayoshi-kun. The square on the bottom is Null, as you can tell. Null players are those without rings."

Then he continues, in a much too highly amused tone of voice, "Oh~? But what's this? My, my, Tsunayoshi-kun, now where will you find your last element to participate...?"

His voice changes back to casual, switching topics.

"Well then... Let's announce the participating members then. Oh, this is the one time you can discuss before making your choice, by the way."

Shoichi steps forward, his glasses obscuring his eyes, and spreads his arms apart.

"Byakuran-san, since I don't have a Ring, I can be considered a 'null' element, right?"

A brief stare-off ensues, tense.

Papery wings of a tiny butterfly flutter, unnoticed except by Byakuran, under his collar.

It flaps it's wings twice.

And then disappeares.

/_So Francy-chan doesn't care either way? Alright, then. In that case..._/

"Well, I'll make a special exception."

(Always for you, special _special_ **special**.

Still wasn't enough to make you stay.

Pity.

Such high hopes for you in this world.

Perish with the rest, then.

Maybe in another world, you'll **_stay_**.)

The redhead with glasses bows his head.

"Tsunayoshi-kun, our line-up is settled then."

"Huh?"

"The participating Vongola members will be as follows: Sky is Tsunayoshi, Storm is Gokudera, Rain is Yamamoto, and Null is me."

"Hey wait, Irie! Like we'd listen to your orders!" Gokudera snarls. "The boss makes these decisions!"

"But Gokudera, I agree with a line-up where everyone has combat experience," Reborn cuts in.

"What? Re-Reborn-san!"

"Hold on!" Ryohei interrupts them all. "Isn't there something wrong when I can't participate!? I _extremely_ trained with Mangaroo!"

"You'll have to bear with it this time!" Shoichi flares up, snapping slightly. "The other side is also bound by these conditions. That's how 'Choice' works. Besides, the gyroroulette gave us a pretty favorable result. The other side is down a person, and Byakuran-san can't participate."

"I feel gravely offended by your dismissal, Shoichi," Fran drawls. "Have you forgotten that I'm also a co-Boss? What, you think I didn't deserve my position?"

He scrambles to think of an excuse automatically, an ingrained reflex from Byakuran's constant teasing, and Fran's constant prods.

"N-No, I didn't mean it like _that_, Fran-san! I-It's just that you don't really show off your power much, a-and you're kinda quiet when you aren't speaking…"

"So now you're saying that Byakuran's a show-off and I talk too much, except when I'm not?"

Hibari unintentionally saves the redhead from committing more social (and possibly fatal, as you never can tell with a female if they're being serious or not) blunders.

"You think I'm going to accept that reasoning? I'm _going_ to _participate_," the Cloud Vongola Guardian insists.

"Hold on, Kyoya," an unfamiliar voice slots in.

A chuckle.

"Man, you're so hopeless."

. . .

"Dino-san! When did you get here?"

The blond Chiavarone in the heavy green winter jacket looks surprised.

"I snuck in during the warp. I've been here the whole time."

The 'you-didn't-notice?' is implicitly stated.

(Tsuna blushes redder than the Storm Flames of his self-proclaimed 'right-hand man'.)

He turns to Kyoya.

"I'm your tutor. Of course I'd come."

Like it was just that simple.

Over on the other side of the roof, Bluebell tugs at Fran with puffed-out cheeks and a pout.

"Hey, hey, hey, Fran-nee-chan, who's that?"

"Dino the Bronco, Dino the Head of the Chiavarone, Dino the first student of Reborn, Dino the eternally clumsy klutz who's useless without subordinates and kept on losing track of his monstrous spongy pet turtle when he was younger, depending on who you ask," Fran answers blandly. "Oh, wait, no, not the last one. He still loses his pet turtle, from what the Intel Department rumors say."

Back on the Vongola side, Dino is wrapping up his 'touching' reunion with his student, which mainly consists of dodging several tonfa strikes while gasping out bribes and desperately cajoling for a truce.

"Make it quick," Hibari grudgingly bites out, stashing away his tonfas again.

"Yeah, got it," Dino agrees easily, grinning.

(Tsuna gapes at how good Dino has gotten at persuading Hibari.)

"Tsuna, it's your call. Are you okay with that line-up?" the blond Chiavarone inquires.

"Huh? Y-Yes!"

There is thud from the other side.

Zakuro staggers and drops to the ground, head down, with elbows resting on his knees.

"I feel like crap," he complains.

"He's… the guy who was whistling… the magma bath freak!"

"Lord Byakuran, sorry, but since I don't have a role to play, I'm getting sick of this, to be honest."

He slumps, sprawling strangely across the ground.

Kikyo also drops, but only to one knee.

"I apologize, Lord Byakuran. Zakuro has lost interest."

(In the background: Fran repeatedly stabs Zakuro in the head with the end of her staff, lecturing him about taking his medications for his bipolar mood swings, and _were-you-__**drinking-**__again-on-your-days-off because-if-this-is-another-random-hangover-I-swear-I-am-__**so**__-going-to-hide-the-liquor_.

Bluebell is helpfully kicking him in the side, commenting about _you-feel-like-crap_-_because-you-__**are-**__crap-you-bastard-knucklehead-and-which-one-of-us-is-the-wacko-__**now?**_)

. . .

"Hmm~, we'd better hurry. Then I'll introduce the participating members from the Millefiore side now. Cloud will be the ever reliable and kind leader of the real six Funeral Wreaths, Kikyo. Sun will be the zombie that lives to kill, Daisy. Mist will be the elusive and blankly unreadable deceiver, Fran. Ah, I think that does it."

"You're still missing one! You're supposed to have two Mist members!" Basil bursts out.

Bluebell takes the cue and clings to Byakuran's side, eyes wide. "Uh-oh!"

Byakuran lets his jaw drop and widens his eyes comically. "Crap!"

Then they both relax into pleased smiles.

"Is that what you expected us to say? Like I said before, each of the six Real Funeral Wreaths has been assigned one hundred A-rank subordinates. The other Mist player is already here."

A haze of Mist Flames glimmer in front of him, parting to reveal an oddly dressed, masked swordsman, sitting lotus position on the ground.

"One of Fran's men: Saru. Not that Francy-chan particularly wanted him as a subordinate… ah, but then that's giving away too much."

The usual hubbub starts up on the Vongola side.

Chrome looks especially nervous.

"Two illusionists…"

Byakuran smiles once more, this time with an unidentifiable edge to it.

"Oh, but now isn't this a case of the pot calling the kettle black? You accuse me of not having enough players: wrong. But what about _you?_ Take a closer look at your gyroroulette screen."

A visible '2' is pointed out, next to the Sky element's symbol.

His smile sprouts knives for teeth and dripps poison honey.

"Now I wonder, wher_ever_ will you conjure up another Sky, Tsunayoshi-kun? Dino can't participate; he's Chiavarone, not Vongola, and the rules were laid out quite firmly concerning that."

. . .

"That… would be me, Byakuran," a new, high-pitched person proclaims.

The Vongola shift and stir uneasily.

Worried whispers can be overheard.

"Are you sure…?"

"We don't want you to get hurt…"

"I'm sure, and if I don't get hurt, then you all will be," the feminine voice reasons, until a cloaked person, short in stature, steps out of the crowd and turns to face the Funeral Wreaths.

Fran sucks in a large breath upon hearing the new voice, eyes wide and imperturbability gone, replaced by a desperate miasma of emotions meshing across her face, vulnerable and _scared_ and _hopeful_ and _shocked_ and no_thiscan't**be**__!_

She stumbles forward, her scepter landing impetuously on the floor with a clatter.

Bluebell and Kikyo reach out, concerned and worrying, grasping for the back of her trenchcoat-jacket, missing.

Zakuro lifts his head up, curious, and even Daisy stops digging his fingers into Bubu so fiercely, focusing intently on the scene playing before his eyes.

Byakuran is startled at his Mist's sudden loss of composure, a total loss that he glimpses only once before: in their first meeting, when he brings up the Mare Rings.

"Francy-chan?"

His words lose their teasing undertones, sounding more like an order.

Fran blindly pushes him away, scrambling to stabilize her footing, and grabs the cloaked figure's thin, pale hands, croaking out stammered words with a dry, dry throat.

"A-Are you…?"

The figure discard their cloak with an elegant shrugging motion, a snake shedding a layer of old skin.

A young, black-haired girl wearing an awfully familiar mushroom hat smiles sadly up at her sorella [sister].

"Yes, big sister Frannie, it's me. How's life been for you? I see you've gotten an important job nowadays."

Fran crumples to her knees and leans back, just staring at the oh-so-nostalgic face, tightening her hold on her hands, silently burning tears being held back with sheer force of will.

"Why d-didn't you-? Wh-where did you-? _How come you don't look a day over eight when you disappeared for twelve years!?_"

Yuni insists on smiling that sad, sad smile.

(The pink ribbon holding a glowing orange orb around her neck _throbs_, and it _hurts_, but she has to _endure_ because that's what she's been doing these past twelve years. _Learning to endure_.)

Smile, smiling, smiled.

Byakuran frowns.

* * *

**Extra Scene [Musing]:**

Zakuro wondered at times, vaguely, about whether or not Fran had ever noticed how she mostly won the smaller issues, but mostly let Byakuran have his way with the bigger disagreements.

About whether or not Fran had ever noticed how Byakuran had purposely done so, as to keep her satisfied and content, even as he continued to spin more and more manipulations.

About whether or not Fran had ever noticed how the only reason (or, at least, the main reason) that Byakuran even continued to provoke her with arguments and petty disputes, was because he seemed amused with her reactions, and (occasionally, rarely) puzzled by her personality.

(Byakuran loved puzzles; he was undoubtedly also a master at dissecting them down in seconds.

Very few people could spark and keep his interest; Fran was one of them, and Shoichi was another.

Because, in the end, even they were all so horribly predictable, given enough time, given enough parallels.

Sho-chan would grow uneasy and betray him.

Fran… was supposed to be an enemy, powerful enough to be Varia, but otherwise not important enough to warrant any attention from him.

This Fran was new, however.

Exciting.

A clean slate, with unknown variables tossed into her childhood, shaping her personality and reactions into another unknown.

Mist with a secondary Sky?

Definitely a puzzle worth keeping tabs on, and thus definitely worth keeping close.

What better way to do that than to recruit her as his Mist Funeral Wreath?

She was more powerful than Torikabuto, anyway, or at least had the potential to be, if you went by the results of her parallels.

He still didn't know if she had the Hell Ring this time around, but it was highly likely that she did; Hell Rings had a tendency of staying unnervingly consistent in the parallel worlds.

Now, with an extra boost because of the Mare Ring, Clairvoyance, and Sky Flames, though admittedly the Sky Flames were rather weak and apparently tired her out rapidly to call up, Fran seemed far more desirable as a Funeral Wreath than Torikabuto.

Besides, Torikabuto had the potentially fatal weakness of being anchored to a mask; he was technically already dead.

And Fran seemed to be filling in what was usually Yuni's role, from what his parallels had told him, so it was very convenient anyhow.

It might be a little {or a lot} harder to earn and keep her trust and loyalty, but Byakuran was convinced that it'd be worth it.

His hunches were nearly always correct.

{Nearly always, because, as his parallels had underlined quite clearly to him, whenever Tsunayoshi Sawada got involved, then you could never be quite sure of anything.})

About whether or not Fran had ever noticed how she'd been subtly, slowly, but surely_surely**surely**_ (Shirley?) out-maneuvered and coaxed into Harmonization.

… Probably not.

Byakuran's Sky Flames, as overpowering and oppressive and utterly fucking terrifying they could be, had a surprisingly sly, nearly unnoticeable Harmonization that just snuck up on you over the years, until one day you wake up and notice that your Flames have simultaneously settled and been amplified to ridiculously high amounts, as well show trace amounts of Sky Flames only noticeable to other Skies who were specifically looking for it, as Sky Flames Harmonizations tended to do.

(The trace amounts were just there to 'mark a claim', so to speak.

Skies could be selfless and all, yes, but they were at core fiercely protective over what was theirs, and thus extremely possessive over their Guardians.

You haven't seen a truly riled up Sky until you witness an actual bitchfight {I kid you not} between two Skies squabbling over who tried to snatch whose Guardian and so on.)

You could very easily never notice.

Then again, maybe it wasn't so surprising after all.

If Byakuran's power was shown in his Flames, then his personality was shown through his cunning Harmonization effect.

He yawned and flopped over onto his side, bored with all of this thinking.

Eh, it's not like he cared too much.

Idjits, the lot of 'em.

(Except for Byakuran, of course, and Fran to a lesser extent.)

* * *

_**Revised 5/15/15.**_

_**Added: Cut out some unnecessary words, added the 'smile' stuff, added the extra scene, and the flower thing at the top, and a bunch of other misc. stuff. Made it present tense.**_

_**#**_

_**#**_

_**#**_

_**Big reveal time. **_

_**#**_

_**#**_

_**~Please Review.~**_

_**~I love reviews more than Zakuro loves enjoying the magma hot springs.~**_


	28. Interpretation

**Summary:**

_Fran's not blind, and Fran's not deaf; she can tell she's only a replacement. Yuni was the trusting, benevolent "Aria's daughter". Fran was the suspicious, bitter "spitting image of that-guy-who-married-Aria". She's even born with the "wrong" Flame; a strong primary Mist and a weak secondary Sky. But now that Yuni's vanished, Fran's the (grudging) Giglio Nero Boss. Byakuran's intrigued by a Fran who differs so drastically from her parallel selves. Meanwhile, Yuni being gone has a greater significance than any of them realize._

**Disclaimer:**

_KHR! rights go to Akira Amano._

_The cover picture may or may not be mine, depending on which one I'm using. I tend to switch frequently. In case it isn't mine, then this is a general disclaimer for that. So, yeah. Don't sue me, please._

**Note:**

_/insert words here/ are thoughts._

_Assume__ that they are speaking Italian unless otherwise stated or implied. Fran is canon-ly French, so her father here is French, and she is fluent in it. When stressed and cursing, whether out loud or mentally, she has a tendency to slip and slide back into French. __So, congratulation, you will probably be picking up an assortment of French profanity._

* * *

**Reviews:**

_Thank you, '__**Kat**_'_, for your review. Yup, plot twist bomb-drop, anyone?~ _

_Thank you, '__**vini8**_'_, for your review. I'm glad you liked it; updates are once every day, or occasionally a few minutes or an hour over, so to be more accurate, updates are within 25 hours of each other. :]_

_Thank you, '__**Haddleigh**_'_, for your review. New fans/reviewers are always eagerly welcomed with marshmallows and guava candies~. 'Replacement'-verse Fem!Fran is actually much more emotional than regular Fran or canon!Fem!Fran would probably be. But that's okay, because dry sarcasm is just as good as monotone insults._

_Thank you, '__**Arciia**_'_, for your review. By right of the author to be sadistic little review-addicts, of course. Why else?_

_Thank you, '__**Lilinanade**_'_, for your review. Calm your Chiavarones (sorry, another bad pun on 'bucking horse' = 'horse' = 'Chiavarone')... all your questions will be answered in due time. ;]_

_Thank you, '__**SayaNightshade**_'_, for your review. Because every heart-wrenching, angst-filled rom-com world domination plot needs totally unforeseen but vaguely hinted at plot twists, right? :]_

* * *

_~The Varia Headquarters, believe it or not, had it's own flower garden as well, though of course they didn't call it by such a "sissy" name. Hardy, tough, and flashy flowers randomly dot whatever part of the Varia landscaping that hasn't been torched in 'training' yet. History goes along the lines of, 'Xanxus wanted to prove to Timoteo that the Varia's Varia Quality flowers were better than the stupid weakling flowers the stuck-up Vongola gardeners kept rubbing in their faces'. (Levi may or may not have been caught trying to poison the flowers in the Vongola Greenhouse.)_

_Astilbe__is a showy flower, blooming in vast swaths, so that despite their tiny individual size, when seen from afar the plant looks like feathery fluffy ferns, painted vividly over with shocking pink. There are purple, red, and white varieties as well, with many new hybrid versions of astilbe being produced as the years go on._

_It can be analyzed to mean **afterthought.**~ _

* * *

"There's a lot I can do, actually, but it's too late for me. (...) I don't think any of us really know what we really want out of life until we're dead. And being dead is definitely being too late." - Aria

* * *

[A companion chapter of sorts to Chapter 1: Preparation's flashback.]

Yuni of the Giglio Nero was _not_ a perfect child who was only kind and generous and had no ill will in her soul, no matter what the people around her insisted.

That was just idealizing her beyond acceptable margins.

(Because she was still _human_, after all, and she had _problems_ and made _mistakes_ couldn't know exactly what to say and do _every second of the __**day**_. It was completely unreasonable and insanely nerve-wracking to expect her to be this flawless angel in human form.

Did they know how hard she had to work and fake and _try_ to pull that off?

Even _Sepira_ and _Luce_ and _Aria_ had their imperfections and chips in their masks.

It was one thing to be naturally inclined towards 'goodness', and another thing entirely to be practically worshiped as a merciful pardoning goddess in human form who forgave everyone and loved them unconditionally.

So Yuni had learned to put on the facade and brush up her mask, tweaking little details here and there to adjust after every new encounter, just like all of the other Giglio Nero Bosses famous for their 'compassion and Clairvoyance' had done.)

Not that anyone else seemed to mind.

Or notice.

Anyone else other than her darling sorella [sister], of course; just another reason to love her.

(Because Yuni's love for her sorella was true, strong, pure, deep, heartfelt...

[If anyone knew the extent, they might call it a fixation. An obsession, in a less neutral, diplomatic term..]

She would do _anything_ for Fran.

She would lie.

She would manipulate.

She would flatter and steal and charm and disgrace.

She would _kill_.

... She would willingly **die**.)

_They_ all interpreted Fran's actions and words as _wrong_ and _mean_ and _jealous_ or _strange_.

_They_ all rejected the tealette, simply because she was _different_ and didn't fit into their little pretty picture of a little pretty family in a little pretty world doing little pretty things and smiling little pretty smiles with little pretty eyes that spoke of little pretty words.

(But that little pretty picture didn't exist, since they weren't a little pretty family, this wasn't a little pretty world, they didn't do little pretty things, and those smiles were fake, those eyes were mocking, those words meant _less than nothing._

Nothing was pretty inside and out, and the cosmos were a big, big place.)

* * *

In their family pictures, the change had been visible, chronological, and _so blatantly **obvious** oh mio** dio** were we** idiots** for not realizing or **what**?_

Newly born Fran, being carefully cradled in Aria's arms, drooling the slightest bit as she slumbered peacefully.

* * *

_"Isn't she just perfect?" Aria sighed blissfully, tracing nonsense patterns across her precious baby's delicate skin._

_The photographer smiled, but it was a distant, hesitant smile, and his eyes lingered on the noticeable differences between the mother and daughter._

* * *

Age one, Fran was adorably staring at the camera with wide, innocent eyes, clutching Aria's waist.

* * *

_"Mamma? Whassa ca-mu-wa?" Fran frowned with confusion, tugging insistently at her mother's sleek strands of hair._

_Aria smiled indulgently, and cuddled the toddler a little higher up, resting on her hip._

_"A camera is what makes pictures, Francy-sweets," she explained patiently, bopping her lightly on the nose with a finger. "Don't you want to have pictures of you and Mamma together?"_

_"Too-ge-tha! Togetha! Togethewa!" Fran cheered, sounding out the word._

_"That's my smart little Francy-sweets," Aria cooed proudly. "Just like your Mamma and Papa, hmm?"_

* * *

Fran at age two was much the same, but her eyes were warier, less open, with her hold on Aria tightening with possessiveness… or fear.

* * *

_"They're stupid," I mumbled into Mamma's chest, frowning._

_Mamma frowned as well, concerned, and held me closer._

_"Are the children saying things again?" Mamma asked, whispering softly into my ear._

_I lightened a bit; that tickled!_

_Then my mood soured upon answering Mamma._

_"Yeah. They say mean stuff about Papa being dead, and me not looking like you, and how I don't act like you, and they don't let me come near them, like **I'm** the mean one!" I huffed, righteously indignant._

_"Don't listen to them; Papa died proudly, doing his duty. And of course you don't look or act exactly like me; what's the fun in having identical copies? The world would be so boring, then. Could you... could you still try and be nicer to them, Francy-sweets? I know that they might seem slower than you, but be patient. Not everyone's as prodigious as my precious, right? Please **try**, though. Try for me?" Mamma reasoned._

_"But..." I began to protest, only to meet the soulfully pleading eyes of Mamma. _

_Grumbling at the unfairness, I grudgingly agreed. "Fine," I spat, turning my head to the side, and tightening my fingers wrapped in Mamma's shirt._

_I'd agree to try, but only for Mamma._

_Only because Mamma always tried for me._

* * *

Standing by herself with a darker eyes and a smaller grin and holding Aria's hand was three year old Fran.

* * *

_I glanced worriedly down at my dear daughter, who seemed stubbornly bent on avoiding eye-contact._

_"Francy-sweets, what's wrong?" I queried, crouching down to better level out our vastly differing heights._

_There was a definite suspicion in my mind about what was wrong; more likely than not, Frances was being excluded again._

_It scared me more that she was starting to accept exclusion as 'normal' for her._

_My cute little genius was too smart for her own well-being, sometimes. _

_I feared how her extraordinary maturity at such a young age would affect her growth. Usually small children automatically suppressed distasteful childhood memories as a mental 'buffer' of sorts, but Frances had very good memory for her age, and there was the possibility of her remembering the exclusions, especially if they continued._

_But I can't **order** the Giglio Neros to welcome her; that would defeat the purpose, as they would only interact with her because of me, and as selfish as it was, I didn't want my darling Francy-sweets to resent me because of her reliance on me. Frances had proved herself as quite the self-initiative logic-oriented independent. _

_I just hoped that my lack of action wouldn't cause her to resent me even more in the future._

* * *

Her cherubic baby fat melted away a year later, to make room for sophisticated, arching features and a dwindling smile; Fran's grip on Aria's fingers was looser.

* * *

_Mamma asked me why I stopped smiling so much._

_I didn't answer._

_I didn't answer, "Why would I, when there's nothing to smile about? When I don't understand why I would smile? When I don't understand why people smile in general? When I'm tired of conforming, of having to feel these irrational 'emotions' that cause me to be reckless, be unreasonable, and do me no good?"_

_(My thoughts weren't in those words exactly, of course, but those words are how I would put it a few years later, in command of a significantly expanded lexicon.)_

_/**What's. The. Use?**/_

* * *

A five year old Fran had eyes alight with wonder and a tiny smile playing on her lips, as she curled up in Aria's lap and poked at an infantile Yuni.

* * *

_"This is your new sorellina [little sister], Francy-sweets. Yuni. Take care of her, okay? Siblings share a special bond; bonds of blood, of birth. Siblings should stick together."_

_Fran glanced up at Aria, one finger prodding at the chubby, pale lump of flesh, with tiny clenched fists and floppy lips and eyes screwed tightly shut, blocking out the world. The blanket covering the pink-ish blob shifts minutely every few seconds, right on cue; Yuni was breathing._

_"... she'd never leave me? She'd have to stay with me?"_

_There is **something** in the way her daughter looks and says those tentative questions that unsettles Aria._

_But Aria loves her daughter, daughters now, and so she smiles and nods and forces off the unsettling feel._

_"Yes, like that, Francy-sweets."_

_A pause, a sheepish chuckle._

_"Erm... you might want to ease off on the poking, Francy-sweets. Gentle, gentle; she's still just baby, y'know."_

_/**... And maybe there's some merit to it after all.**/_

* * *

The smile had gone by the time Fran's sixth birthday had passed, and her jaw was clenched, posture stiff; still, she allowed Yuni cling onto her shoulders, with Aria laying a proud hand on her firstborn's head.

* * *

_"Sorella mad?" Yuni piped up, tilting her large, childishly lopsided head, and widening her bright blue eyes in blatant attempt at influence._

_Fran looked at her._

_Black hair, blue eyes, pale skin but-not-as-pale-as-her, an easy smile and tinkling laughter and graceful posture and natural warmth._

_Natural **Sky** warmth._

_She was practically a miniature doppelganger of Aria, Luce, and every other Giglio Nero Donna before her._

_Everyone loved her, loved her with their minds and hearts and very beings._

_Yuni had the entire Famiglia twisted around her itty bitty pinky toe, and Fran was the only one who knew that Yuni had did that on purpose._

_(Fran also knew that Yuni knew that Fran knew.)_

_Her __petite soeur [little sister] had everything Fran had wanted, or maybe just everything Fran had thought she'd wanted._

_(She was growing up now, aging and maturing and **understanding**. Her goals were changing, her methods of execution were changing. _

_All was changing.)_

_Still, Fran didn't hate her._

_It was impossible to hate Yuni, especially since Yuni genuinely loved her._

_Like Aria._

_/**Why?**/_

_... But maybe Fran resented her __soeur, just a little bit of festering, irritating, uncomfortable resentment that settled into her pores and crawled over her skin, similar to an itch that wouldn't go away, no matter how much lotion she plied it with._

_Resented her because she couldn't hate her._

_Resented her because Yuni undoubtedly knew of her resentment, or at least suspected her of it, and never stopped accepting her, **trying**._

_Trying like Aria had._

_(Aria had **promised**-!)_

_Aria had failed to do anything for her; she was all words and no action and that disappointed Fran far more than she thought it would've._

_Maybe Yuni would prove herself better, maybe Yuni would be able to help._

_Help what?_

_Help how?_

_She didn't know._

_But that was what **Yuni** was supposed to figure out, right?_

_So Fran wasn't a good soul, and Yuni wasn't completely untarnished as well._

_That's fine._

_Fran will give Yuni a chance, and either Yuni will put that chance to use..._

_... Or that resentment would just grow and grow and grow until she was engulfed and lost and trapped with no way out, no shining light of salvation, no dark shadow offering revenge for a price._

_Until then._

_She'd be as good of a sorella as she knew how to do, good soul or gray soul regardless._

_"No," Fran exhaled, finally answering Yuni. "No, I'm not mad. Anger isn't productive, except in large amounts of rage on the battlefield, to draw away pain from wounds. Everyday anger simply blurs one's thinking process and hinders their logic by giving value to **sentiment**, of all things. Not that sentiment isn't an effective route of persuasion, but I personally see very little use for it. Madness, on the other hand, I have found to be extremely efficient in 'connecting the dots', so to say. There is a line between insanity and genius, yes; a line marked down only through society's expectancies and scorn. I'd have no qualms collaborating with an insane genius, provided that there is some measure of safety guaranteed as insurance, and that the person's genius far overrides their insanity."_

_(Not a good soul._

_But._

_Pretty damn good of a sorella with a gray soul.)_

_Eyeing the toddler for a brief moment, Fran added dryly, "And I can tell you're dumbing down your vocabulary again, sorellina. What, the idiot babies serving as your playmates and future minions haven't been rotting away your brain, have they?"_

_Yuni sparkled up at her with a grin, as she always did whenever Fran referred to her as 'sorellina'._

_The sparkles didn't quite hide the flash of obvious intelligence in her eyes._

_"Why, whatever makes you believe in that, dear, dear, dear sorella?"_

_Rolling her eyes, Fran pushes away Yuni as she purrs out the faux-innocent question._

_And no, she was most definitely **not** smiling._

_Seriously._

_(As Yuni would gleefully point out [in private, of course], "De-ni-al~!")_

* * *

Seven years of age now, Fran's posture was noticeably distanced from her mother and Yuni, her gaze cold and chilly, only thawing minutely when they landed on her family. Aria looked minorly concerned and guilty, and Yuni had an obvious expression of worry. They seemed more relaxed in the next few pictures, when Fran's fingers curled around their own, creating a linked and somewhat lopsided triangle.

* * *

_"Francy-sweets, **please**," Aria pleaded, only vaguely knowing what she was pleading **for**._

_Everything had gone terribly, horribly, awfully wrong._

_She didn't **mean** to prioritize Yuni over Fran, but then it was evident that Yuni would inherit as a Sky and a clear Giglio Nero, and the Heiress needs training, and the Heiress needs instruction, and the Heiress needs guidance, and the Heiress and the Heiress and the **Heiress** and-_

_Aria closed her eyes and fought the urge to scream._

_What was she **thinking?**_

_**Fran** was still a heiress, too, if, unfortunately, never going to be** the** Heiress._

_And, most importantly, she was still her **daughter**, her **child**, her **flesh** and **blood** and a **part** of her, and hadn't she made that promise to never favor one over the other?_

_Oh **dio** what Francy-sweets must have thought back then whenever Aria postponed plans and canceled bonding times and didn't give her any more recognition than ac cursory glance and an absent-minded pat on the head because she was busy and had work and obligations and- _

_No no no, wrong priorities again, what Fran must think of her **now**..._

_/Pull yourself **together**, woman! You're a Giglio Nero Donna, so **act** like it, damnit!/_

_Aria breathed in and out, deeply, one-two-three-four-five, one-two-three-four-five._

_She opened her eyes, and Yuni, precious wonderful **ohthankyou** Yuni had somehow convinced her sister into holding their hands, albeit loosely._

_"I'm sorry," she whispered into Fran's hair, "I'm sorry I'm truly sorry I'm so so sorry and I should have seen it but I didn't and I'm **sorry** for that."_

_She's rambling again, and Yuni's peering at her with curiosity and a hard edge of **something** else that she doesn't want to deal with right now, but it's all **okay** because even though Francy-sweets doesn't answer and just stiffens-_

_Her fingers are never retracted, and she stands there silently, letting a guilty mother relieve a guilty conscience._

**_Okay._**

_Aria squeezes the limp, cold hand in her palm, so tiny and fragile and doll-like, and is unspeakably **glad** when, after a looooooong hesitance, Francy-sweets squeezes back._

_(Francy-sweets, yes, not Fran, just her adorable smart Francy-sweets, and **dio** she **needs** her. She really, really **does**, and she never knew how much until now._

_[She still doesn't know. Yuni knows, perhaps, but** she** doesn't. Not her fault; adults are nuisances, always set in their ways. Can't blame them, really. Can't blame anyone.])_

_It's a twitch, really, but she'll take it._

_She'll take anything she can get, and she'll try to make amends._

**_Okay._**

**_Try._**

**_Is trying really okay?_**

* * *

Fran at age eight was a sullen, depressed child, all edges and rough parts and the uncut diamond of her acid tongue. She still wrapped an arm around Aria and an arm around Yuni, but even traces of smiles were gone, and her aristocratic features sharpened with the pent-up fury and stress and agitations and restlessness, with an eternal distance in her eyes like she's constantly elsewhere, somewhere else she'd rather be, wandering with strangers and swapping tales and boasting of imaginary feats.

(It's a nice fantasy, and for a while Fran relaxes more than she ever has, but then she always has to face reality eventually, and that just makes everything horribly, infinitely, irreversibly, glaringly worse.)

* * *

_"Sorella?"_

_Sorella looks sideways at me with a sharp jerk of her head._

_I frown slightly._

_Sorella's been a lot more fidgety and tense lately._

_It's worrying._

_Have the children been bothering her again?_

_Is it the adults now?_

_Do I need to find new ways of... **controlling** them now?_

_Unacceptable._

_I've already decreed Sorella off-limits._

_Discreetly, naturally. _

_It wouldn't do for everyone to see pure-innocent-naive 'Principessa Yuni' or 'Yuni-hime' be not so much of an oblivious **dolt**._

_Which meant a lot of hinting and subtle suggestions and barely-there threats that they dismiss as paranoia._

_I can't **convince** them to love Sorella as much as I do, however._

_(As much as she **deserves**.)_

_Sorella's no fool; she'd know immediately, and she wouldn't appreciate it._

_And I'm selfish; I want Sorella to be happy, true, but I couldn't bear it if Sorella were to ever be unhappy with me._

_(Her approval is what I covet most.)_

_I'd give up the 'throne' to her in a heartbeat, if it weren't so risky and counter-productive._

**_They'd _**_claim that Sorella forced me into it, or some other ridiculous, nonsensical, and baseless accusations along those lines._

_**Very** counter-productive to improving her public image._

_"Yes?" Sorella says back, tersely, not quite a snap, but not too far from one._

_Her voice is too rushed, her pitch too urgently low, her words too clipped and curt._

_Something's up._

_I've seen Sorella get more and more jittery, and, well, **glitchy**, for lack of a better term._

_Like sh'es not totally **here**._

_Like her mind's in the clouds, pardoning the overused idiom._

_All after her first official Mist lessons began, with an official instructor, instead of self-taught techniques from scrounged-up dusty old tomes in the back of the Guiglio Nero Archives._

_I frown deeper._

_Should I investigate this instructor of hers a little deeper?_

_I can probably charm one of the more discreet Tech Department members into running a hushed up profile search..._

_Before I can probe further, the door opens._

_I automatically don a sunny smile, flawlessly perfected in front of mirrors._

_Oh. It's merely Mamma, come to beckon us tot he waiting photographer._

_Sorella jerkily stands up from the chair she was flopped lifelessly over._

_Jerky, jittery, glitchy._

_"Let's get this over with. Sooner started, sooner done," she bites out._

* * *

Year nine was fractionally better for Fran. Her willingness for body contact increased slightly, some of her edges had been smoothed with love and attention and genuine trust, and her features had softened until she no longer looked far too old for her age.

* * *

_Aria had tried, was trying, will continue to try._

_Was it too optimistic to think that it was working?_

_Francy-sweets seemed more peaceful, more content, and happier in general with herself._

_Yuni had stopped giving her odd looks and chilly shoulders, as well._

_(Although, as a mother, she had to say that she found it absolutely adorable how the imouto had the world's biggest sister complex._

_[She just didn't know what depths Yuni would lurk into for her Sorella.])_

_"Smile for the camera, kiddies!" Aria beamed proudly, a mother bird over her brood of nestlings._

_Yuni copied her beam, and bumped playfully against the tealette to her side._

_Fran rolled her eyes, looking mildly, quite mildly fond, and nudged her with a foot, simultaneously giving a half-hearted grin-grimace._

_Good enough._

_Snap! goes the camera._

* * *

Reaching ten years had been a trial, and it showed. Body language became defensive and hard to read, her gaze was now positively _frigid_, and her stance was both aggressive and angry. The most Fran allowed in pictures was a light brush of the hands or shoulders; Aria looked resigned and regretful, and all Yuni did was smile convincingly enough to fool the photographers while she fretted on the inside.

(For Fran had stopped calling her 'sorellina' or even 'petite soeur' [little sister] and Aria 'mamma' or 'madre' or even 'maman' or 'mère', and would only address them by name.

Yuni wasn't the only one looking conflicted and torn apart at that new status update.)

* * *

_It... it was just one little slip, Aria tried to convince herself._

_But it wasn't._

_She'd really honestly tried to spend more time on Fran like she had last year and the year before that, yet..._

_Stuff happened._

_The crotchety old 'advisers' and the less-crotchety less-old oh-only-about-**everyone** had pushed more pressure on her to give up her firstborn as a bad job and focus exclusively on her second-born, the one to inherit and make them all proud to be Giglio Nero._

_Pressure to mentor, pressure to correct, pressure to mold, pressure to bend and break and rebuild into idolized perfection-_

_Aria remembers how much she'd hated becoming Boss at first._

_Pressure on the Heiress to strive for more, pressure to succeed faster, pressure to lead the new generation into bloody glory because the Giglio Nero are still M**afia** and **all** Mafiosi have their dirty little secrets-_

_Aria really, really, really hated it._

_So she'd been stressed and frazzled and impatient and so far past the end of the rope that she didn't even know where she'd left it._

_And then perhaps she'd forgotten a few meet-ups with Fran._

_Or... _

_More than a few._

_There seemed to be pressure on Fran, too; to stay away from their chosen heiress._

_**The **Heiress._

_Yuni had been rather distant from her, as well, apart from Heiress lessons, and spent the majority of her time tracking down her sorella's increasingly innovative hiding spots._

_(Aria would congratulate Francy-sweets for her impressive ability to find the most difficult-to-reach hideaways, if only she could **find** Fran to apologize to and make Fran **listen**.)_

* * *

By eleven, their relationship as sisters breaks down, and Yuni is at a loss of how to fix it, even as the rest of the Giglio Nero praise their 'principessa' and 'hime' and ignore her increasingly bitter and closed off elder sister.

/_I don't **want** your sycophantic praises, I want my Sorella back!_/

The walls of isolation had been built up around Fran, who showed no interest in tearing them apart.

Indeed, at eleven, Fran suddenly lost all of her frustration and rage and rebellion against the world.

It was as if a switch had been flicked; the tealette storms off to one of her special hideaways after someone had dismisses her father and her Flames again, and a week later slinks silently back, melting into everyday routine, becoming an unnoticeable shadow of her former self.

* * *

Yuni finally confronts her sorella when she reaches 6 ½ and her sorella had reaches 11 ½.

(She finally gathers up the courage to face the possibility of her sorella's disapproval at age 6 ½ and age 11 ½.)

Fran gives her this bland, utterly unnerving look that became her default expression in the past.

"No," she answers her question.

Calm, casual, cool.

"No, I've always been like this. At that point, I had decided it was a waste of my time to continue causing myself unnecessary conflict and turmoil by being 'in-touch' with my emotions, and reverted to this stage. It's just easier when you decide to stop caring; everything slides off of you like oil on water. Besides, 'caring just shows that they've won'; isn't that the spiel you and Aria consistently spout? So I won't care."

Then she goes back to her book, apathetic.

Yuni, despairing, seeks their mother for help.

Aria is out of ideas, too, and can only offer guidance and advice, the usefulness of which were up to her.

"Even if Francy-sweets says she doesn't care anymore, she still _does_, at least about us. We're her family, and family sticks together. Blood bonds are important, and deeply ingrained. And if Francy-sweets decides that she wants to keep her distance, we'll let her and support her from behind. After all…"

The black-haired woman let out a short, choppy laugh-wince.

(Part of which, Yuni realizes years later, is a forewarning of Aria's rapidly approaching end, brought on by the cursed Pacifiers.)

"It's kinda my own fault for not taking stronger action against the rumor-mongers, isn't it? I should've _tried_ more, _connected_ more, reached _out_ to her more… but what can I do? The next heiress needs training, and it's going to look like favoritism to her, mental maturity of an adult or otherwise."

A sigh, admitting.

"There's a lot I can do, actually, but it's too late for me. Famiglia will come over family, unfortunately. I'm in too deep, Mini-Me, I'm in too deep. But it's not too late for you, alright? Promise… promise me that you'll look out for your sister, whether she wants it or not. Give her breathing space, too; give her a chance to find herself. Because I don't think any of us really know what we really want out of life until we're dead. And being dead is definitely being too late."

Steady eyes held her own.

"Are you ready to take on this responsibility? It's a duty, not an obligation. I _need_ you to be her Sky that encompasses all."

Unwavering eyes replied.

"I'm ready, Mamma. It's only fair, because the reason sorella is hurting is since I took the position of heiress from her, and now her sorellina is just a shining beacon of what she'll never have and never get."

Then she hesitated.

"Erm… what does 'encompass' mean?"

Startled laughter, hair ruffling.

"It means to hold within, and in this case, to accept flaws for what they are and to cherish them anyway. Lucky me, eh? Two smart and understanding kids are what I have."

(Yuni beamed up at Aria, mentally crossing her fingers.

She knew exactly what encompass meant; but if faking naivety let her mother relax, then why not?

At least some good can come from this instinctive manipulation of hers.)

* * *

Fran's twelfth year was the last year Yuni spends with her sorella somewhat normally.

She does her best doing what she knows, in order to make amends with Fran again.

It'd works… kinda.

Instead of being completely indifferent to Yuni, Fran inclines her head when they pass by in the hallways.

Of course, she doesn't advance drastically onto actively seeking her out, but they have little conversations and drink tea and read or play chess or other hobbies in smooth silence.

Yuni sometimes asks her sorella for tips on making the most of 'Clairvoyance'.

She repays when Fran lazily inquires one day about certain rumors floating around the Giglio Nero.

"Hm, Yuni? What's this about you sensing feelings and thoughts?"

A perfectly innocuous, half-joking comment.

If it had been made by anyone other than Fran in anything other than that flat monotone of hers.

"Ah, well, Mafiosi are rather paranoid, sorella. Too twitchy for their weapons, I'd say. And illusionists are strong enough to to protect their mindscape from intruders… if they're even half-decent, anyway."

There.

A not-really reply that could pass for one.

And now a distraction truthful enough to top it off and redirect her sorella's attention, before she focuses a little too intently on analyzing her vague words.

"Sometimes… I can see from eyes like mine, but different," she confesses. "Like, I have visions, not 'Clairvoyance' visions, but visions that let me 'visit' places that are interchangeably similar or completely opposite to our world. And another 'me' exists, too; they always seem very accommodating, but none of them ever give me a straight answer about what _there_ **was**."

Humming lightly in acknowledgement, Fran drops the subject.

(She does not, however, forget it entirely).

* * *

Aria's death and subsequent funeral, halfway through Fran's twelfth year of existing, is a quiet, hushed-up affair.

She passes away peacefully in her sleep, after painful, arduous days of not-so-peacefully hacking up blood and scrawling out her last will in between puking.

A serene smile still graces the lips of her cold, cold corpse, as it lies among a bed of black lilies in a polished cypress coffin.

"Cypress for death," Fran mutters under her breath at the funeral.

/_Smiling when dead is overrated. It's frickin' creepy, is what it is. Why are they so awfully happy about being **dead?**_/

It is the only thing she says that day.

The funeral is a quiet, grieving event, hosted in the backyard of HQ.

Every Giglio Nero member able to move, arrives on the funeral date to pay their respects.

This is one of the rare moments Yuni recalls where no one gives her any special attention, and no one purposely ignores her sorella.

They were all too busy blinking back searing, salty tears to notice much of anything, to be honest.

When it's the tealette's turn at the casket, she walks up, stares at Aria's blissfully relaxed face, and then turns away with closed eyes after dropping a bundle onto the Giglio Nero Nona's chest.

('_Aria Giglio Nero, daughter of Luce Giglio Nero and Matteo Airaldi. The much beloved Giglio Nero Nona will be forever missed, as a loving Boss, and a loving mother, the two titles she prized with equal importance'_ says the plaque on the tombstone.

/_Wrong,_/ Fran thinks. /_No matter how much she tried, her Famiglia as more important than her family. Trying isn't enough. Trying... isn't okay._/)

Yuni comes after Fran, and, curious through her numbed haze of shock, notes down what the bundle was.

/_Cyclamen flowers, dead leaves, dark crimson roses, and yellow tulips. I'm pretty sure Fran didn't pick them out because of aesthetic beauty, since they, well, clash horribly. Sorella knows flower language? Sorella **does** read a lot, and she seems to read everything, so I suppose it's no great surprise. I guess it's a library visit for me, then?_/

A few days after the funeral, the household is still encased in silent mourning, putting a damper on everyone's mood.

It takes a while, but Yuni believes she's finally picked out the meanings of Fran's flower bouquet message.

Each part of it had several meanings, so she sifts laboriously through several handbooks until a meaning pops up that best fits how she thinks Fran reacts.

/_Cyclamen is 'resignation and goodbye'. Dead leaves are 'sadness'. Dark crimson rose is 'mourning'. Yellow tulip is 'there's sunshine in your smile'._/

Yuni is startled by the complexity and yet contrasting simplicity in Fran's message.

Softly closing the last of the books and putting them away, she creeps out of the library, feeling uneasy at having decoded what was obviously meant to be a _private_ message.

As luck would have it, Fran is the first person she bumps into in the hallways.

"Yes?" the tealette drawls, at first glance looking to be completely unaffected by her mother's passing.

If anything, the only signs that the Mist-Sky wielder is feeling any impact, are her recent bouts of sluggishness and lethargy, punctuated with a return of the sharp, jittery episodes.

And if you stare into her eyes, really, really _stare _(not that any of the Giglio Nero would bother doing that), just like Yuni is doing now, you can possibly detect glimmers of dull, muted _something_.

A mother is still a mother, even if Fran has stopped calling Aria that years ago.

Losing relations is always sad.

Aria just happens to be one of the very few people Fran has feelings other than indifference for.

So even if Fran doesn't want to embrace her sorrow, that doesn't mean that she can't _feel_ it nonetheless, and place a meaningless label on the dampness weighing her down.

Yuni makes a choice.

She tightly hugs her sorella, and refuses to let go, finally releasing the tears and sniffles that had struck her once the numbness of shock had pulled back, muffling soundless wails into Fran's cloak.

"I miss Mamma," she sniffs, letting her 'perfect' mask crack and shatter.

(Masks are able to be mended with glue and time; hearts, much less so.)

"A-And," Yuni hiccups, "I k-know that you do, too. I'm sorry, I didn't understand, I just wanted to know what it _meant!_"

For her credit, Fran stands still and makes no attempt to remove her sister.

Oh, she knows immediately what Yuni refers to.

It is rather easy to see, once you factor in her sudden interest in the library and flower interpretation manuals.

Unsure how to handle this… sudden, close-contact display of _affection_ and _empathy_, after such a long time of self-imposed disassociation, which for some reason quells the heaviness that rests upon her shoulders, she goes for what seems right, for what she remembers doing a few years ago.

Mimicking what she sees others do, Fran hesitantly lifts up an arm, and starts patting her sister on the back, albeit awkwardly.

Good enough for Yuni.

(_Good enough._

_Snap! goes the camera._

_"Another perfect picture, ma'am!"_

_Laughter, happy, grin-grimace-shrug.)_

… the declared heiress and unofficial soon-to-be Giglio Nero Decima makes sure to beam up her brightest smile at her sorella when she finally disentangles herself and leaves

Yuni wants to give Fran a smile full of sunshine, as well.

Now she can finally put the words to her goal, her goal since day 1 of her existence in this cruel, petty world.

* * *

It's too bad, then, that a few more months later:

-Yuni is announced as missing.

-The Giglio Nero are down one Pacifier.

-Fran is grudgingly named Decima.

-(She's not too sure she even _wants_ the position anymore, after so many years of envy and frustration and acceptance.)

-And for her thirteenth birthday, that year's family photo consists of a tealette sitting primly by herself, perfectly poker-faced, concealing a tumultuous tempest of _pain__loss__**fear**__**regret**_.

...

...

/... _I'm afraid that I can't be Sorella's Sky anymore, Mamma. Hopefully someone else will fill the gap._/

* * *

**Omake **

**(fran gives advice on lying):**

"Why are you so meeeeaaaaannnnn to me, Francy-chan~?" Byakuran pouts, dragging out the word unnecessarily long.

"I'm not; I simply point out that it's your fault," Fran replies stoically, poker-faced and bland, barely paying attention to the whining white-haired 25-year-old-man-acting-like-a-5-year-old-child.

"Eh~? But why do you always blame me for everything?"

"Because it's usually your fault. And if it isn't directly, then it's indirectly through your meddling and interferences."

"That's not true," he protests rather feebly, sounding unconvincing even to himself.

Fran raises an eyebrow pointedly.

And then returns to her novel.

"Lying is a sin," she reminds him mildly. "If you're going to lie, at least make it sound more believable."

After a beat, Fran scrunches up her nose the smallest fraction, and flips a page.

"Actually, don't. Your lies are already far too good. Usually."

* * *

**Omake **

**(fail pick-up lines fail):**

"If I could rearrange the alphabet, I'd put U and I together."

"N O, so F O."

… When the Millefiore finally succeeded in taking over the world, Byakuran did indeed make it an official decree to change the alphabet, so that 'U' was next to 'I'.

Fran deadpanned and made another decree to change it back.

And so it went on, until people gave up trying to track the changes, and stuck to the original format for clarity.

Byakuran sulked, and Fran could be seen looking just a few shades more smug than usual.

* * *

**Omake**

**(more fail pick-up lines fail) **

**[AU]:**

It was rush hour in New York City, and Fran was late for work.

Thus, she was understandably pissed, and not in the mood to put up with any connerie [bullshit], thank you very much.

(Putting aside the fact that it was _always_ rush hour in the grand Big Apple.)

So when a white-haired man bumped into her in the midst of the pedestrian foot traffic, she was _not_ in the mood to be accommodating.

"What." she snapped flatly, jerking halfway to look at him.

/_Is he **really** white-haired with lavender eyes and a purple spike tattoo? Then again, I'm teal-haired and teal-eyed with dark blue eye-tattoos..._/

"Sorry," he smiled sheepishly, hands held out in a shrug, "but I seem to have lost my phone number. Can I have yours?"

Fran spared him a mild look of incredulity for a total of 2.3 seconds.

(Which was more emotion than most of her coworkers get out of her in a year.)

/_Because, like, is he seriously hitting on me in the middle of rush hour? And holy **merde** [shit] I'm **so** going to be late now._/

Then she reverted to her usual indifferent face, and turned back to her phone, furiously typing out a string of placating updates to her increasingly agitated employer.

"First of all, that won't help you find your phone, unless you plan on stealing my phone, in which case this is attempted theft. Second of all, no. Third of all, why would I? And fourth of all, I couldn't anyway, because I don't remember my own. That's my phone's job. And my manager's."

With that, she melted seamlessly into the crowd, and finally got to work, albeit half and hour behind schedule.

All thoughts of the white-haired stranger were suppressed and compartmentalized into 'Not Job-related Stuffies'.

(Fran was quite proud of her proficiency in meditation and mindscape-molding; she had near-perfect memory recall.

No thanks to that pervert pineapple she had as a 'shishou'.)

...

"VOOOOIIIII! THE HELL ARE YOU DOING SO LATE!? YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO BE HERE _AGES_ AGO, BRAT! THE SHITTY BOSS IS PISSED, AND WE HAVE A SHOOT TODAY WITH MILLEFIORE!"

She sighed.

Not even two steps into the building, and Squalo's already tracked her down.

He's like a real shark sometimes, she swears; scents blood and weakness and zooms in for the kill.

Killing of her _eardrums_, that is.

"I told you, the chauffeur got delayed or something, so I had to walk, and have you ever tried walking in the morning rush hour? Foot traffic is murder, crossing the streets is a mob, and I'm pretty sure that fifty percent of the signal lights are broken," Fran sniped back moodily, feeling the start of a headache form.

/_Dieu [god], if it weren't for the frankly great pay, I'd have quit the Varia Modeling Agency a long time ago and never looked back._/

(Okay, so maybe she'd look back, but only to make sure that the fake prince wasn't trying to skewer her with a knife again, that little psychopathic merde [shit].)

Squalo 'harrumphed', crossing his arms with a displeased scowl.

"VOOOIII! WELL, THEN WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR!? GET IN THE MAKE-UP SECTION AND THE DRESSING ROOMS! LUSSURIA'S ALMOST DONE WITH THE PRINCE BRAT!"

Plotting homicidally for a decent cup of strong tea and headache relievers, she rolled her eyes and walked at a decent pace down to the doors labeled 'Make-Up' in some fancy golden glittering script that was peeling off.

She paused for a moment to survey it distastefully.

/_How gaudy. And cliche. Lussuria probably got overruled for the sparkling pink stuff he wanted. Thank dieu for the small mercies._/

"Fran here," she drawled, rapping her knuckles against the door.

A girly squeal rang out from inside.

"Ooh~! Come in, Franny dear, I'm nearly finished with Bel-kun~!"

Shouldering her sturdy gray Varia-embossed messenger bag, she obliged, and opened the door to step over the threshold.

A blond in a chair before a vanity mirror threw something at her.

She dodged instinctively, narrowly missing the silver knife that landed with a thump! into the wall next to her.

(The wall was riddled with similar knife-marks.)

"Good morning to you too, Bel-senpai," she intoned flatly, dropping her bag onto the couch on her other side.

"And Luss-nee," she added, nodding to the green-haired man with a Mohawk, clutching a make-up brush, dressed in a frilly apron, and hovering over the blond.

Belphegor grinned unrepentantly.

"Ushishishi~, one of these days the prince will get you, froggy," he promised.

"When that day comes, I'll be sure to leave you nothing in my will except the debt incurred from me betting that I'll die because of you," she answered dryly. "Though, at least Varia pays death-on-the-job bonuses. Coincidentally starting from the year when you were hired."

Lussuria frowned and swatted the blond on the shoulder, careful not to mess up all his hard work on his perfectly styled hair.

"Be nice, Bel-kun," he scolded. "Siblings should be nice to each other!"

"We aren't siblings, you gay peacock!" Bel argued, glaring.

His glare was actually visible this time, Fran mused. Apparently the photoshoot required a hairstyle with his bangs out of the face, so his eyes were on full view.

She freely admitted (to herself) that she rather liked his stormy grey-blue eyes, dotted with white flecks, but a romantic relationship wasn't viable.

For one thing, it'd be extremely awkward on the job if they broke up, and besides, they'd constantly clash.

A fun fling? Maybe.

But Fran was a very down-to-earth sort of person, and she wasn't looking for a careless fling.

"Done~!" Lussuria pronounced with pride, stepping back to properly admire his handiwork.

Fran, feigning disinterest by the doorway, craned slightly to peer critically at her senior.

Lussuria had done a fine job as always.

Belphegor, smirking arrogantly at the mirror, had his sharp cheekbones and high-set nose highlighted with light applications of make-up.

Long blond bangs, clipped back with two slim white clips on each side, framed and accentuated his classical jawline.

A single golden earring hung from his left ear; the Varia 'V'.

Collarbones featured prominently on unblemished skin, above a scoop-neck print shirt and a low-slung jean jacket. Standing up, he showed off his black skinny jeans and knee-length boots with a runway-ready pose, one hand on a jutted-out hip, setting his silver belt-chains clinking.

"Missing your tiara, fake prince?" Fran asked 'innocently'.

He immediately scowled, ferally baring his teeth and lunging, only to be restrained and dragged out of the room by a mother-henning Lussuria.

"Honestly, Franny dear, I wish you two would stop provoking each other," he sighed upon returning.

Fran merely shrugged noncommittally and took the abandoned seat in front of the vanity mirror, letting Lussuria work his magic on her.

"... So what's today's theme?" she questioned idly, having grown bored of watching her slow transformation through her reflection.

Busily rubbing moisturizer into the tealette's scalp, Lussuria took a second to respond.

"Millefiore collaboration for a black-tie event line of clothes by one of the Vongola designers," he explained hastily through a mouthful of bristling hairpins. "Bel-kun's with Squ-chan and Boss on the casual-type Varia Vacation line."

After another moment of close examination, she was cleared for dressing.

"Don't rub at your eyes, Franny dear~!" Lussuria cautioned her as she left.

Making a vague noise of assent, Fran escaped to her designated Dressing Room.

...

The first set of clothes were already laid out, so she stripped and garbed, swiveling once in front of the helpfully located full-length mirror to watch for any untucked hems or the like.

Lussuria's bright smoky cat-eye amplified the intensity of her ordinarily disinterested teal irises. Her pale skin was given an extra pinch of life with a sprinkling of delicate pink blush. Foundation had covered up her trademark eye-tattoos. The ends of her chin-length bob had been curled outwards and lightened to a seafoam shade.

The outfit lived up to it's classification of 'black-tie': an off-the-shoulder (right shoulder bare, left shoulder covered) asymmetrical black dress, ending from the right knee to the left mid-calf, rimmed at the bottom with flared layers of fluffy gray gauze.

Black suede heels were paired with it.

Sparkling grey stones were sewn in an eye-catching spray across the lone strap and half-sleeve; an unevenly ridged white sash wrapped tight around her waist like a less-constrictive corset.

Jewelry had been included in the clothes laid out.

Flatly hammered out golden links connected into a thin choker, stretching the entire length of her neck.

A matching gold-link armlet crawled up her left forearm, and a slinky gold-link anklet hung loosely around her right ankle.

It was at times like these, Fran thought with a glimmer of mournfulness, that she wished she could keep the clothes she modeled.

Impatient knocking came from her door.

"Muu, hurry _up_ already, the Millefiore are already here! I have your modeling partner right outside your door as well. It's bad business to be late, and bad business means loss of money. Besides, time is money, too, and now we're wasting both time and money! _Criminal_, I tell you, practically _criminal_. I do _not_ get paid enough to manage you buffoons. But then stupid Fon with that stupid smile of his would go all like, "Oh, hey, Viper, there's more to life than money you know." As if I hadn't told him a million times to stop _calling_ me that and to start calling me by my current name!"

Fran rolled her eyes at the mumbled ranting of the Varia Financial Manager, and leisurely strode to the door.

(She was faintly proud of the fact that she could now run in 6-inch stilettos, thanks to the hours of hard work put in at the Varia Modeling Agency.

She was less proud of the fact that she could now cripple a person by using 6-inch stilettos, thanks to the many homicidal psychos she had the misfortune of calling her 'colleagues' at the Varia Modeling Agency.

Mainly a certain "Ushishishi~"-ing tiara-wearing blond with a knife fetish.)

/_Fon needs to take Mammon out on a date soon. Their UST is so blindingly obvious that even the usually hair-blind fake prince can tell. Oh, wait, my modeling partner? Hmm, Millefiore's a pretty new company; I thought they were mostly competing with Vongola Incorporated in the media industry? Must be branching out._/

Yanking the door open, Fran stepped out to see the gloomily cloak-covered figure that was Mammon, and a suspiciously familiar white-haired and lavender-eyed man, dressed in a black suit with a gray tie, and gold-link cufflinks.

/_Wait a freaking second..._/

His eyes brightened.

"I'm not a photographer, but I can picture you and me together," he winked, smiling charmingly.

Fran slowly stepped back in, said, "I was kinda hoping you were the photographer, actually, so I wouldn't have to model with you", then flipped him off and slammed the door shut.

...

Mammon made her come back out.

"Money blah blah blah money blah blah blah get the fuck out here or else I'll cut your fucking paycheck blah blah blah-"

Ugh.

Stupid money and stupid jobs and stupid economy and stupid livelihood.

Ugh.

Mammon dragged the both of them to the photoshoot-set, and then left after brief introductions.

"This is Fran. This is Byakuran. Don't kill each other, or do anything that might get us sued; it's coming right out of your paycheck otherwise."

Very brief.

Fran was half-tempted to correct her by saying that Fran didn't get paid by paycheck, she was paid on a commission basis.

But knowing Mammon, she'd just cut her commissions instead.

As soon as the grumpy miser, ahem, respected Financial Manager, was gone, Byakuran turned to her and said, "Are you a camera? Because everytime I look at you, I smile."

"The camera's over there, so smile over there, because that's what we're paid to do. Unless you're blind and mistook a teal-haired person wearing a dress for an bulky inanimate object on a tripod, in which case I'd be obligated to feel offense."

… It got worse.

...

"For a moment I thought I had died and gone to heaven. Now I see that I am very much alive, and heaven has been brought to me."

"Pity you hadn't really died. Though if this is your heaven, I think I'd rather go to hell."

...

And it's not like the Millefiore photographers were any help in reining Byakuran in.

Since, apparently, he was their boss.

"E-eh, B-Byakuran, d-don't you think y-you should m-maybe st-stop pr-provoking the Varia m-model?" the red-haired one had stammered out nervously, clearly terrified.

"But Sho-chan~," was all Byakuran had said, before said 'Sho-chan' had immediately crumpled and backed down.

...

"I thought happiness started with an H. So why does mine start with U?"

"Because you quite clearly failed Spelling, and life. "

...

"If I were a cat, I'd spend all 9 lives with you."

"If you were a cat, I'd ditch you at the closest pound."

...

"If a thousand painters worked for a thousand years, they could not create a work of art as beautiful as you."

"If a thousand painters worked for a thousand years, they'd all be dead."

...

"What'll it take for you to agree to a date?"

Fran hummed in thought, dressed in her pre-job attire with her bag over her shoulder.

The photoshoot had finally finished half-an-hour ago, and she'd been preparing to leave, when Byakuran had caught her in the lobby, with a totally serious-sounding question.

/Well, he is persistent. Have to give him points for that. Decent-looking, too./

"I know a place with great guava smoothies and guava pancakes," he offered winningly.

/Damner [damn]. He must have asked Lussuria, that traitor. He knows that I love guava, and that I'm always hungry after a big shoot.../

The empty feel of her stomach convinced her.

Fran relented, linking arms with Byakuran and tugging him out the door.

"No more pick-up lines, and you're paying for the first date," she answered decisively.

He perked up.

"Does that meant that there'll be a second?"

"Depends on how sincere you are on the first."

...

They served guava and marshmallow cake at their wedding, three years later.

"Oh, shut up," Fran muttered, and shoved a plateful of cake at a squealing Lussuria.

...

"So why did you keep pestering me with pick-up lines when we first met, anyway?"

"I wanted to see how you reacted~. Francy-chan was far too impassive; _bor_-ing. I wanted to see how much it took to annoy you, and what sorts of amusing reactions you'd respond with."

"... Creep."

"Creep that you married~!"

"Oh, shut up."

"Isn't that what you said to Lussuria at our wedding?"

"Your point? Shut. Up."

"Mou~, so mean to your dear ol' hubby~!"

"Ugh, no. That pout just, just, no. No. And would you stop it with the swirly curlie-cue thing? Dieu, it's like talking to Lussuria."

* * *

**Extra Scene [Cursing]:**

It was quiet in Fran's private office.

Byakuran eyed the slumped figure of his colleague contemplatively, his smile smaller and grimmer than usual, a glass of champagne in hand.

(Why champagne?

Well, he'd never liked the taste of hard alcohol, beer was horribly plebeian and reeked most unpleasantly, and while wines were a fantastic way to seem both sophisticated and show-off status and wealth, champagne was sweeter [in his opinion] and paired better with marshmallows.

Plus, he enjoyed the tickly sensation of the fizzy bubbles sliding down his throat.)

Come to think of it, it seemed like he was always drinking champagne whenever something melancholy came up.

(Champagne wasn't a symbol of celebration for him.)

Fran probably wasn't feeling very celebratory, either, though she'd accepted a glass wearily.

"I need the alcohol. And if I don't now, I _will_," she'd muttered by way of explanation.

However, ever since accepting the cup, she hadn't drunken so much as a single sip from it, instead leaning forward over her desk, elbows out and resting her face in her hands, eyes closed.

The glass of champagne was left untouched next to her, and the silence that curled around them held only the rhythmic sounds of breathing.

Though, he supposed that he couldn't really fault the tealette for not doing anything for roughly…

He discreetly flicked his eyes over to the analog clockface hanging on the wall to his right, it's sleek, streamlined ebony needles sweeping smoothly and soundlessly across the unmarred porcelain surface, distinctly lacking the tick-toc-tick-toc noises of other clocks.

(Somehow, that absence of sound where there should be sound just made everything worse.

A lot worse.

It was as if time itself didn't exist, had vanished for the sole purpose of not disrupting the heavy silence between them, heavy with awkward attempts at comfort and awkward attempts at reciprocation.

A whole lot worse.)

… an hour.

Eh, it's not like he had anything important to do that day.

And besides, however minuscule an amount it may be, he could still empathize.

(Empathy had never really been his thing, anyway, because who needed _empathy_ when you could offer _power_ instead, and fake the sympathy decently enough to slip into a convincing recruitment pitch?

If you can't _destroy_ them, then make them _help_ you.

[Because it was always better to destroy a threat than to merely beat it.

Why should _you join them_ when they could _work for you?_]

Byakuran was an excellent manipulator, surpassing even the infamous Mukuro Rokudo, and it showed, if only they'd bother to look.

[If only they knew _where_ to look.

Fran always seemed to know precisely _where_ to look, _why_, _how_, and _when_. That was one reason she interested him, though to call it _love…?_ Familiarity doesn't always breed contempt, and to fall in 'love', one must first stumble in _'like'_.])

If he'd been the one to suddenly see his thought-to-be-dead (dyingmurdered_gone_) mother again, only to discover that Bianca had never changed physically, but had changed oh-so-much (tooforeignsodifferent_whycan'tyoujuststaythesame?_) mentally, and had sided against him as well (betrayalVongolahowcouldyoutraitor _I-trusted/loved-you why-desert/leave/abandon-me-right-after-I-got-you-back-!_)...

… Well, then it was somewhat easier to understand why Fran had reacted the way she did yesterday, after her long-lost sister had popped up, out of the blue, with that sadguilty**old**_knowing_ look on her face, and then gave away nothing save for a cryptic clue as to where she'd been, before declaring her allegiance with the Vongola and essentially forcing Fran to fight against her.

(Fran hadn't touched her Giglio Nero Boss/Heiress hat since she'd gotten back from the Choice game, and her confrontation with Yuni.

She'd forgone her cloak as well, instead opting for a snowy turtleneck sweater, dark leggings, and silver Flame Boots; Vi adorned her hair as a single string of tiny, smoky-slate, clouded pearls, barely noticeable under usual circumstances, but blatantly obvious with the lack of the giant white mushroom ordinarily dwarfing Fran's head.

Without the hat and the cloak (her scepter, shattered and mangled as it was, had been shipped off to the labs to be melted down and remade, redesigned, remodeled, restocked), her height shrank dramatically, as did her presence.

Not that there'd been many examples of her reduced presence, seeing as she'd nearly immediately chosen to reclusively barricade herself into her rooms after they'd come back from the Choice game.)

Shifting, Fran elevated her chin, until it was jutting out, supported by the flat of her left palm.

Teal eyes slid over to her cup of champagne, clearing up slightly, focusing, until they were just blank, rather than completely lifeless.

Then she spoke.

"What the hell."

Her words were flat, her tone dreary, as if she'd needed to exert a tremendous effort to drag the phrase out of herself.

Byakuran tilted his head, humming softly in vague inquiry.

She obliged, with a massively tired flop-wave-gesture to nothing in particular.

"No, like, seriously. What the l'enfer [hell] is this merde [shit] supposed to be," Fran said just as flatly, the supposed rhetorical question deadening into a statement instead.

"I see her for the first time in 12 years. 12 fucking years. And what does she do? She goes all fucking casual-like, calling me 'Frannie' and asking how life's been for me. Like she actually cared and wanted to know. 'I see you've gotten an important job nowadays', she says, as if I wasn't the head of a _Mafia_ _Famiglia_, as if I was just a respectable white-collar worker with a high-paying job and we were both regular civilians at some merdique [shitty] high school reunion. As if I hadn't killed before, hadn't ordered other people to be killed, hadn't come prepared to kill the Vongola, to kill kids, to kill... to kill _her_, bon sang [damnit]! As if I was supposed to simply smile and reply and we could have a nice little teatime catch-up like nothing had ever fucking happened and everything was abso-fucking-lutely fine.

"And then I ask her where the l'enfer has she been all this fucking time, and she just smiles that fichu [goddamn] smile of hers and doesn't say anything other than, 'Back and sideways and through some wibbly-wobbly stuff. Slipped through the seams and got pulled back here; it's the Pacifier, y'know?' How the enfer [hell] am I supposed to fucking know what that merde's supposed to fucking mean? It sounds like she read it off of a fucking fortune cookie or something. Fucking Sky Arcobalenos and their fucking fichu smiles and understanding and Pacifiers and curses and it's just not_ fair!_"

She then dissolved into rapid-fire incoherent rambling that essentially boiled down to a long stream of French curses strung along with wordless rage.

(It wasn't like Byakuran was very good at comforting people, and she wasn't the kind of person who usually needed comforting.

So he kept quiet and let her vent, keen eyes watching and sipping champagne, occasionally humming softly or making vague noises of assent to urge her on.)

When she was done, and slumped over, suddenly so very, very, tired, he smiled and gently helped her up, cleaning away the still-full glass on her desk.

(He remembered that she could drink with the best of them, but had never gotten into much of an alcohol indulgence habit.)

When she muttered that she didn't want to be left alone again, eyes unfocused and concentrated on a memory years away, he smiled and compliantly stayed by her side, leaning warmly against each other and for once not getting pushed away.

(He remembered that she hated being cold and subconsciously associated coldness with loneliness, but had always shied away from too much human contact.)

When she fell asleep into a fitful doze, randomly jerking or frowning subtly, he smiled and smoothed out her hair on his lap, him sitting on the couch with a blanket wrapped around both their forms.

(He remembered that she had once, in one of her rare moments of relating personal backgrounds, told him how Aria used to sit by her side through the nights when she couldn't sleep, but she stopped being there in the morning a few months later.)

When she awakens in the morning, faintly spluttering for about 1.7 seconds before becoming as composed as she was before the disastrous Choice match, he smiled and tactfully refrained from saying anything about the night before.

…

…

(He remembered that she had clearly stated before, "I only curse when I'm stressed, and in front of people I'm okay with knowing that I'm stressed."

In other, less tsundere/kuudere words, " I only curse in front of people I trust enough to lose my composure with.")

He smiles and mentally marks the day down as the day when Fran, unintentionally or otherwise, admits that she trusts him.

* * *

_**Revised 5/11/15.**_

_**Added: extra scenes, some tweaking, the picture snapshots, and random tidbits. Flower scene was edited to be a bit more realistic, Yuni's relationship with Fran was elaborated, Yuni's personality was fleshed out. Also, for the rant in the extra scene, I chose to leave in some of the English curse words, since they added impact.**_

_**#**_

_**#**_

_**#**_

_**The last scene is a kinda-teaser for the next chapter, by the way. Yup, you finally get to see where Yuni went after going 'missing' with the Pacifier.**_

_**Plus, after this story gets wrapped up, which will probably be in another month (one chapter a day, maybe), what do you guys think about a College!AU with B26? There will be some headcanons from 'Replacement'-verse carried over. Would any of you object if I made it Fem!Fran? Because I have nothing against yaoi, most of my favorite pairings are yaoi, but I'm not too sure about writing it. Besides, Fem!Fran is awesome and needs more love. (Any thoughts on whether or not I should include Vi?)**_

_**Note: Before accusations of OOC-ness are unleashed, please keep in mind that 'Replacement'-verse!Yuni will be different from canon!Yuni, because they were raised differently and experienced different events, which resulted in different personalities being shaped. Canon!Yuni's hard to characterize properly, anyway, because a child growing up in the Mafia, or **__**any**_ _**person, really, shouldn't be able to be that selfless and caring and self-sacrificial without a very complex background backing up her reasoning.**_

_**P.S.: The omake marks are abolished, mostly because I lost track of how may omakes are due, owed, and when. They will come when they come, and probably be much, much shorter.**_

**_Yay~! This fic officially has broken the 100k word mark! W00T._**

_**#**_

_**#**_

_**~Please Review.~**_

_**~I like reviews more than Verde likes one-upping Reborn.~**_

_**("Aha! I've finally discovered the formula behind Dying Will Bullets!" **_

_**-Reborn passes by casually, whistling.-**_

_**"Ciaossu. Oh, you just finished that, Verde? Leon's been pumping out those things since last month."**_

_**-Reborn strolls off.-**_

_**"ARGH!"**_

_**-Verde crumples the papers in his hands and look homicidal.-)**_


	29. Communication

**Guys. **

**Let's face facts.**

**This fic is dead.**

**Deader than somebody who insulted Frances is going to be after getting shipped to Marie-Anne.**

**For various reasons, I've realized that I am simultaneously so proud and so embarrassed by this story, but most of all have no motivation to ever finish it.**

**Like, ever.**

**Seriously.**

**I still have random notes and world-building drabbles written in my old school agenda and my old writing notebook.**

**I'm too lazy to actually type all of that up.**

**Instead, I'm going to apologize, thank all of you reviewers (especially the faithful, chapter-by-chapter ones), and offer you a summary of what I'd originally planned to revise and add. Posted behind this notice is a very long chapter of finished and unfinished drabbles that were going to be interludes/world-building/etc. for the story, until I realized I was never going to finish it.**

**Addends and summary below:**

**.**

**-If you looked at my 'revised' chapters, than you can see that I'd planned to add more world-building, a more 'realistic' sense to organized crime with magical fire powers, and a darker one as well**

**-Something I would have liked to add was incorporating Gamma better into the Millefiore, so he wasn't essentially forgotten until a reviewer reminded me**

**-I also would've liked to portray the Giglio Nero with a better characterization and explanation behind why they acted the way they did, distorted by the biased view of child!Fran**

**-Plus, make Fran a more definite, consistent character, though she's pretty much already wildly off-canon; also have taken away the underlying shipping altogether, because I feel like when I started, I just wanted to have her end up with Byakuran, and no. Just no. That's a warning sign of a terrible author; shaping a character just for a pairing.**

**-Oh, and a detailed rationalization of some of the stranger, underused abilities, like apparently Bluebell's ability to shift into water? like her flame? can Fran shift into mist and Byakuran into ozone and Kikyo into cloud and etc.? definitely an 'innocent-puddle-of-assassin-water-lying-on-the-middle-of-the-road' would have been involved, like: "... has it rained lately? Eh, whatever." _Splash. _"You stepped on me!" "AAHghfjfenefm-" "Oh, the internal organ shutdown already finished. Ugh, I wanted to yell at him some more!"**

**-Maybe have spun off a completely unrelated and fully cracky one-shot of canon!fran as a funeral wreath**

**-There were a lot of useful powers and things that I introduced, or left out, or introduced and left out only later to conveniently bring in**

**.**

**For the actual summary of what was originally going to come after chapter 28:**

**29: flashback chapter detailing what happened to yuni, showing motivations, kinda. turns out yuni's missing years were spent in a parallel world where she landed in front of p!aria, who was just sitting on the fresh grave of dead!p!yuni. awkward. p!aria sees yuni's pacifier, realizes she's a parallel yuni with a parallel pacifier, and doesn't really care; desperate to have any version of her daughter alive again, p!aria immediately extends an offer to take her in. yuni, confused, but ecstatic to see her mother alive again, agrees. she misses fran, though, but thinks optimistically that now her sister can finally have what she deserves: the giglio nero leadership. yuni is explained to truly love fran (in a platonic way, of course) and want the best for her. p!giglio nero, who know yuni's not their p!yuni but still adore her, realize that yuni isn't aging. p!aria theorizes it's because of a number of factors: the pacifier, possibly, and/or her arcobaleno status, maybe, and/or people can only physically age in their own world. after a few years, yuni has a vision concerning fran, and shortly thereafter is yanked back into her own world, unaged, landing right in front of a very startled 10thgen.**

**the rest: yuni, with an agenda of her own, helps the 10thgen. lead-up to the confrontation with fran. fran is startled, angry, hurt; she thinks yuni left her purposely and is now opposing her. [? happens] epic fight between yuni and fran, with the wreaths engaging the guardians, and byakuran dealing with tsuna. fran uses her hell ring, and internal conflict over fatal blows or not. fight ends with yuni purposely letting fran kill her. on deathbed, tells fran she had a vision of this happening, and forgives her for everything, and asks her to forgive her mother as well. fran, emotionally distraught, tries to answer but has yuni die on the ground at her feet before she can, and the worst thing is: she wants to cry, but she can't. lonely and empty and even more bitter (at world and at herself), fran stays on the hollow city's rooftop. byakuran catches up her, bloodsmear on his cheek, the rest of the millefiore players behind him, and the vongola driven off for now. they all have a quiet moment looking at the sunset.**

**[? happens] byakuran and tsunayoshi have their face-off, frances is delayed for some reason (?) or blocked from interfering. a huge blast of sky flames is meant to kill byakuran on the ground, she rushes in, strikes down tsunayoshi, and uses every dredge of mist and sky flames she has to block or divert or nullify the blast with the petrification property giving her a desperate edge.**

**ending is open, with multiple ending chapters to choose from, all posted (they're technically all parallel endings; you get to choose which ending is on the story-canon world):**

**-fran doesn't try and block the blast - kills the weakened 10thgen - takes over millefiore entirely with an empty, purposeless existence**

**-fran survives but fails to save byakuran - leaves mafia to 10thgen and lives out life in a house bought years before as a sanctuary in rural france - outsider pov on the strange and distant recluse painter, and her assistant (Marie-Anne) who apparently found her after looking for years, and stayed as well**

**-fran survives, saves byakuran - millefiore triumphs - happy (technically dystopian, with millefiore saturating everything and ruling it all like a gigantic corporation in a sci-fi fantasy thing with all other flame-users ignorant or killed) ending?**

**-"stagnation" : fran survives, saves byakuran - millefiore triumphs - unhappy ending with byakuran poisoning fran and knowing that fran knows he knows she took the tea on purpose ("We won. The world's ours. Why has everything become so dull, Francy-chan?" "You have nothing more to aspire to. You stagnate, Byakuran, without a victory to have and an enemy to defeat." _Teaspoon clinks._ "Mm. The thing is, I've been thinking that maybe the Millefiore would do better with one leader." _Fran stares at Byakuran, smiles very, very faintly over the rim of her cup, and says before drinking,_ "Maybe so. I'm bored with it anyway; I suppose it's time to see if the rumors about the ring were true. I'll see you in hell, Byakuran." _Silence... Byakuran sighs, softly, and smiles as well, then reached over the table to close her opened eyelids. His wedding ring glints. _"See you, Francy-chan. Now... what shall I do today?")**

**-fran dies, saves byakuran - millefiore triumphs - byakuran unsure what to feel for fran, wreaths mourn, but world quickly moves on, and marie-anne is almost possessed with her tireless grieving-by-throwing-herself-into-her-work**

**-fran dies, byakuran dies - 10thgen triumphs over the grief-torn, shocked millefiore - tsunayoshi quietly reflects in office about what to officially do with the former millefiore heads' corpses, and muses on the lost potential**

**-fran dies, byakuran dies - millefiore crush 10thgen with rage - marie-anne, when preparing fran's' body for preservation through rain flames, is crying; she finds fran's butterfly box, gets a mist battery (flame batteries are abundant in corporate!future!millefiore) to open it, finds a very stoically grieving vibrazione; vi and marie-anne bond together for comfort and bitterness**

**-and many more in the readers' imagination**


	30. Coordination

**Note:**

_**Most of these are incomplete, or bare-bone lacking even a summation. Some are completed. I have no idea why individuals would want to read this, but I wrote all of this in preparation for finally continuing a story I now plan to leave for dead, and so, it may be useful or entertaining as fodder for world-building and/or making up your own continuation to 'Replacement.' The author notes have been left untouched, and therefore have the false promises and expectation of me reviving this. If there are any more updates after this, they are solely drabbles or fragments that I already had written down in my old writing notebook and school agenda.**_

_*****Incomplete Notes - are, well, notes that are sometimes tacked onto an incomplete drabble for you to understand what I was planning to incorporate (before abandoning it altogether)**_

* * *

**Character Study**

**(everybody's a cynic):**

.

.

.

_"In every cynical person, there is a disappointed idealist." - George Carlin_

Yuni knows not everyone is nice in the world.

She knows that, well, not anyone is nice in the world.

(The world.

This world.

Every world?

Any... world?)

Not really.

Not simply for the sake of being nice.

Even if they don't realize it themselves, they always have reasons, ulterior motives.

Instinctive, psychological, subconscious…

Always, always something behind as the driving force.

The Giglio Nero are nice to her, because they see her resemblance to her mother and her grandmother and all the other Giglio Nero Donnas preceding them, and want to get on her good side, to be favored when she becomes the next Donna.

They remember the tragically short lives and 'beautifully compassionate hearts' of her ancestors, and they project onto her their regrets of not being able to help their past Bosses.

They see her crystal eyes and cherry lips with curved Mona Lisa smiles and slender wrists and dainty feet, they hear her soft words and urging speeches and comforting apologies, they feel her fragile bones and flawless skin and silken hair, they sense her bewildered fear and joyful gladness and calm serenity, and they pity her.

They pity her because they fear her 'beauty' and 'innocence' will be 'tarnished' by the Mafia when she grows into the role forced upon her at birth, so they spoil her and pamper her and affix her into the mental image of a living deity, like her mother will-is-was, so they preserve that perfect impression on her, so they lift their guilt about being the ones who force that role upon her, so they can feel better about their fucking pathetic selves.

They don't see her sharp frowns and sharper scowls and sharpest smirks, because they are willfully blind. They do not want to see those. They do not want reminders of how negative, how young she is.

They don't hear her layered lies and cooed criticisms and slyly smoothed suggestions, because they are willfully deaf. They do not want to hear those. They do not want reminders of how cunning, how manipulative she is.

They don't feel her sinewy muscles and accurate kicks and hard teeth, because they are willfully oblivious. They do not want to feel those. They do not want reminders of how strong, how capable she is.

They don't sense her angry rage and depressed sulkiness and tense yearning, because they are willfully unaware. They do not want to sense those. They do not want reminders of how fickle, how capricious she is.

They don't want anything other than their idolized 'Princess'.

… She really, really hates them for that.

She hates them for ignoring her faults, for not seeing her as a real live breathing normal human fucking being.

She hates them the most for not being nice to her sorella [sister].

There's no reason to.

Fran isn't a cookie-cutter look-alike black-haired blue-eyed Giglio Nero Donna.

Fran isn't even considered to be the future Donna, despite her elder heiress claim.

Fran isn't 'beautifully compassionate'; she's all jagged edges where there should be rounded middles.

And Fran definitely isn't someone easily pitied. She's blatantly cynical and embittered and snarky and bitingly defensive, not 'tragic'. She's suspicious and sly and tangles up lies and truths with a matter-of-fact surety, not 'innocent'. She's gifted with Mist Flames, attacks with languages confined to the soul, mind, heart, vessel, not 'weak'. She's sharply defined and pale skin and slim swinging sways and startling tattoos, with out-of-place hair and out-of-place eyes and cold to the touch like a ghost (her too-bright eyes and ethereal hair shine in the darkness like something someone not of this world like one of those clever-witted Fae from the stories Fran's always reading), not 'cute'.

She taught Yuni everything, she loves Yuni.

She's not nice.

She's not like that.

She guides and criticizes and silently leads.

Even sorella does what she does for a reason: she does it because she wants Yuni to stay with her, to love her, to never leave her side, she does it because that's what she envisions a sister to be like.

Yuni can accept that reason, that love. Yuni wants Fran to stay with her, to love her, to never leave her side, to be what she envisions a sister to be like, too.

Equal exchange.

For that, for those simple reasons, for Fran always seeing her as Yuni, Yuni loves her.

Utterly, completely, wholly.

Aria cares for her because she is her child, she has the human urge of maternality, she sees herself in Yuni, she wishes that Yuni didn't have to bear the burden of Donna, she is obligated to ensure her offspring's well-being.

Such is the status quo, such is expected of her, and ever since birth, such is how she has been conditioned by society to behave.

Aria 2.0 cares for her because she is, to her, Yuni 2.0. A chance, if you will, to see her child continue living on. A greedy desire to sate her guilt and sorrow and anguish.

She'll take any chance she can to 'revive' her lost child, to grasp that last fringe of her remaining existence.

(It is ironic, Yuni supposes, that to Aria 2.0 she is a replacement for her Yuni, while Fran often felt that she was only meant to be a replacement for Yuni, if Yuni were to ever…

Um. Vanish. Like, how she vanished.

Oh, okay then…)

Giglio Nero Famiglia 2.0 care for her because of that, and because Aria 2.0 cares for her.

Tsunayoshi helps her out of pity. His Guardians help her because he helps her. Reborn helps her out of debts owed to Aria 2.0 and Luce 2.0. The Arcobaleno reluctantly accept her for much the same reasons, as well as the fact that they believe she's the next Sky Arcobaleno. And, therefore, their next Sky.

Really, everyone's quite simple to figure out, to puzzle out at least one motivation, once you accept that there's always going to be something to examine.

It's just how things work.

… But, be as it may, Yuni sometimes wishes that she wasn't so informed as to niceness and not-so-niceness.

She finds herself… disappointed, disappointed in her marred interpretation of people.

Ignorance is bliss, as they say, and she often wonders (briefly, quietly, secretly) how it would feel to believe in the 'intrinsic goodness' of people, to believe in 'redemption' and 'selflessness' and 'sacrifice for the greater good' and 'generosity without expectancies of returns'.

To have others believe that she is truly nice and forgiving, and to have that fact be the honest truth.

... Ah, it's too late now.

She knows, and she sees, and she makes use of those two things in order to grasp the heartstrings of others.

At the very least, she will be able to clearly keep in mind what her main motivation is.

Because it's always been the same one, always, always, always through these years:

Make Sorera happy.

And that's…

That.

There's nothing more to say.

.

.

.

_"If we listened to our intellect, we'd never have a friendship, because we'd be cynical. Well, that's nonsense. You've got to jump off cliffs all the time and build your wings on the way down." - Ray Bradbury_

Tsuna, at 24, is much, much smarter than his 14-year-old self.

Though, Reborn would probably scoff and smirk and say something like, "Still a Dame-Tsuna to me."

But he's, like, the Number One Hitman, as well as the Sun Arcobaleno, as well as his old (and current) tutor/advisor, as well as a really fucking terrifying sadist who probably bathes in sulfur and dries his perfectly-curly sideburns in hellfire and falls asleep to the sounds of screams.

More specifically, the sounds of Tsuna and Dino's screams, since they are (unfortunate enough to be) Reborn's former (and, well, still current, because once you're Reborn's, he haunts you until death, and maybe even after death, if you get turned into a ghost like a certain generation of people with an affinity for clams) students.

Dame-Tsuna and Baka-Dino.

At 14, he was tentative and wary and jumped at his own shadow.

As Reborn never fails to remind him, 14-year-old Tsuna also had the most ridiculous habit of squealing something that sounded like: "HIIIIIIEEEEEE!"

Or, in a Reborn-smile: "Like a very shrill and annoying panicky chipmunk had been swallowed by a cat and then scrabbled around in it's stomach, knocking the cat into a river, and thus getting the soaked, bedraggled, and angry cat a nasty case of indigestion, which it announced it's rage by caterwauling pathetically into the moonless night, since the moon was too disgusted to look upon the truly wretched creature."

Thank dio [god] that particular habit had vanished by now; the other Dons/Donnas would never take him seriously if he kept doing that whenever one of them makes a casual reference to weaponry, slaughter, or blatantly illegal activities.

Not that there are many Dons/Donnas left to meet up with.

The Millefiore have already 'allied' with most of them.

Hah.

'Allied'.

Euphemism for: Absorbing the useful ones, merging territory and assets, and killing off any troublesome ones likely to raise a fuss.

(If the weaker bottom-of-the-rung newcomers are essentially used as meatshields to throw at skirmishes…

Well, no one's going to be bringing it up with the Millefiore Heads anytime soon.)

As the former Dons/Donnas are most certainly going to raise fusses about losing control of their Famiglias, they're usually the first ones to be eliminated.

So many lost…

Tsuna sighs, allows himself a moment of mourning for his deceased associates, and then slaps himself.

Right, back on topic.

Anyway, 14-year-old Tsuna had only known bullying and scorn and self-esteem-diminishing demeaning.

Really, it was a miracle he ever bonded with his Guardians at all.

You'd think he'd have suffered so much emotional damage by then, that it'd take years of therapy to recover and tentatively begin healthy relationships.

Apparently, having a sadistic tutor-baby equipped with bizarre costumes, reality-defying bullets, and the most cunning mind you'll ever find, helps to speed up the process a lot.

"Nothing to lose, Dame-Tsuna," he'd said, pointing a gun to his temple. "And everything to win. What're you gonna do?"

"S-Save my friends," Tsuna'd stuttered, with a spark of leftover determination slowly getting coaxed into flame.

"Great," Reborn then smirked, shooting the trigger, "Have fun diving off that cliff!"

Ah, the horrifying training memories.

Tsuna smiled fondly, sadly, and stroked the side of the picture frame on his desk.

Then he got up, slipped on his jacket, and prepared himself to meet with Byakuran.

It occurred to him, vaguely, buried in the back of mind, that he'd never gotten into the habit of referring to Reborn in the past tense, although the Sun Arcobaleno's death had came and went over half a year ago.

Some impressions never leave you.

Reborn is the the very definition of 'permanent impression'.

At 24, Tsuna is much, much more regretful than his 14-year-old self.

His conscience is much heavier, too.

But in all of his years of knowing Reborn…

(And the glorious, wonderful, 'Vongola-style' chaos that follows him like a persistent little duckling…)

He's never once regretted meeting him.

Not really.

There's nothing more to say.

.

.

.

_"You've got to be strong enough for love. It's very easy to be cool and cynical. It's very difficult to just let yourself go and be in love. You've got to be strong enough for that." - Noel Gallagher_

Gamma thinks, 'I'm an idiot.'

Gamma thinks, 'I really shouldn't feel this way.'

Gamma thinks, 'This way only lies disaster and heartbreak; everyone knows the fate of the Giglio Nero.'

Then Gamma thinks, 'But damn does Aria look gorgeous,' and nothing else matters anymore.

'Course, it's not that easy.

Or simple.

He loves Aria like the moon loves the sun and the mountains love the stars.

Hopelessly, yearningly, impossibly.

Because it is impossible.

All the Giglio Nero Donnas have died early, died young, died before their rightful time.

Died before what they deserved to have.

And, oh, how they all deserved better…

Aria is so kind, so beautiful, that true kind of beauty that glows like a polished lantern, inside and out.

Gamma stays silent and guards her back like a right-hand man should, but when he hears her smooth voice and startled laughter and sly winks, he can't help wishing that he was so much more than just a right-hand man to her.

And... he is.

But is it enough 'more'?

Is it enough to compare to Aria's romantic love for

***Incomplete Notes:

-generally angst on Gamma feeling unworthy to measure up to Aria's apparent true love, who fathered Fran

.

.

.

_"Young people who pretend to be wise to the ways of the world are mostly just cynics. Cynicism masquerades as wisdom, but it is the farthest thing from it. Because cynics don't learn anything. Because cynicism is a self-imposed blindness, a rejection of the world because we are afraid it will hurt us or disappoint us. Cynics always say no. But saying "yes" begins things. Saying "yes" is how things grow. Saying "yes" leads to knowledge. So for as long as you have the strength to, say "yes'." - Stephen Colbert_

Mukuro likes to think he's smart, he's clever, he's wisened up the the ways of the world and the disgusting deceptions and depravity of mankind.

Estraneo has no time, no effort, no nothing to spare for weaklings, for fools, for those who show no promise and shall never rise above what they are now.

Mukuro rose above, for sure, rising high to the skies but never the heavens, the heavens would never accept one tainted by the hells like him.

He rose above, and burned that fucking lab to the ground, laughing and stomping and spitting on the smoldering ashes, a macabre parody of an avenging angel wielding flames of holy wrath, letting only those he saw promise in live on as his, as his followers, as his tools, as his agents and weapons.

Mukuro's smart and clever, as said before, and he learns fast; he's picked up a few things from his captors, torturors, prisoners.

So he lets himself be trapped in Vendicare, more or less compliant, and bides his time, waiting, plotting, watching…

Then he breaks out, breathes his first breath of fresh air in ages, revels in the deliciously tingly feeling of freedom at last, and gathers up his flock, affixes a goal, a hunger, a plan into his mind.

They set off to Japan.

Oh, he wants to burn the rest of the Mafia filth into the ground as well, don't make any mistakes about that, but again, Mukuro likes to think he's wisened up.

If he strolled into Italy's underground and tried to pull off the same stunts he did at Estraneo and Vendice, he'd be roasted alive, delusions of power be damned.

Besides, the Vendice are looking for him.

He's a sadist, he freely admits it, not a masochist.

Never would he let himself be so utterly at someone else's mercy, whims, fancies.

He hates despises loathes being powerless.

(... It reminds him of Estraneo, of dark nights and agonized screams and cold concrete cells and helpless shudders of fear and shadowy unknowns and blood oh my god there's so much too much not enough blood-!)

[Mukuro clenches his teeth and closes his right eye that was throbbing a painful crimson red.]

Anyway, anyhow, he's wisened up.

He goes after the 'soft' target, the easy path to power.

Tsunayoshi Sawada.

Or, he supposes, now that they're in Japan and all, it'd be Sawada Tsunayoshi, wouldn't it?

['Eh', he shrugs it off, 'either way, he'll be brainless soon. Or dead, if the possession doesn't go well. The scientists did speculate that Sky Flames could theoretically Harmonize with the Mist Flames and nullify the possession.'

He stops at that.

He doesn't like thinking of the scientists.]

Only, Tsunayoshi-kun's not so 'soft', after all.

Not so easy.

If only those bullets weren't there, he'd have had the battle in the bag-!

"What now?" he sneers at the tearful, innocent, so. Fucking. Naive and baby-faced hedgehog-haired teen.

"Gonna turn me in to the Vendice, Vongola Decimo?"

And if his tone is more desperate and bitter than mocking and sardonic, and if he trembles just the slightest bit when mentioning the accursed mummified jailors, well, then, that's none of their fucking business, is it?

Ken's indisposed, Chikusa is as well, Lancia is certainly not going to help him, Birds is weak, and the Bloody Twins, who only listen to Birds, are gone.

All that's left is to give up and go quietly, and hope for another break-out, which is unlikely to happen under the heightened security they'd undoubtedly put him under.

Then Tsunayoshi-kun wavers and straightens, jaw set with determination.

"Come with me," he pleads, holding out a hand, eyes flickering orange. "I can protect you. You can… you can be my Mist Guardian or something!"

Shocked, Mukuro just stares and gapes for a few wordless seconds.

"...Why?" he asks, because it has to be asked, and clearly the most-likely-mentally-unstable-and-bipolar-Vongola-Tenth isn't going to be the one asking it.

"Because, because, because everyone deserves a chance, and you look so cynical and jaded, and that's not the sort of look that kids should have! And if I'm going to be forced to be Decimo, then, well, I want to actually do something good with this power of mine!"

It's earnest, honest, blazing bright.

It's totally, completely unexpected.

And maybe Mukuro's suddenly caught a bout of temporary insanity from the most-likely-mentally-unstable-and-bipolar-Vongola-Tenth, and maybe something from the baby-faced hedgehog struck a chord in his empty heart, and maybe there's some of his own childhood want to be happy, to trust, still in there, but for whatever reason…

Mukuro reaches out a hand, grasps Tsunayoshi-kun's hand, and pulls him down.

Right out of the way of a hurtling chain, rattling with deathly frigidity.

"Yes," he tells him, letting himself get wrapped in the chain and bound and tugged off.

It feels… nice, to say 'yes' for once and to believe, after a short and miserable life-time of saying 'no' and turning away.

Even if it probably won't come true, and will probably amount to nothing.

His eyes slip closed, to the faint background noise of shouts and arguing, and to the sedating embrace of the icy chains, cradling him in their unrelenting grip.

'Wait', he thinks, 'no, why am I doing this? I need to stay awake, I need to see what's happening, I need I need I need...'

But the cold is so soothing, so comforting, so trust me trust me trust me trust me sleep…

He sleeps,

and sleeps,

and sleeps,

and doesn't wake

'til he finds a lonely little waif of a girl dreamin' on her deathbed.

'I can work with this...'

"Hello, Nagi-chan," he purrs.

There's nothing more to say.

.

.

.

_"Show me somebody who is always smiling, always cheerful, always optimistic, and I will show you somebody who hasn't the faintest idea what the heck is really going on." - Mike Royko_

Takeshi, contrary to popular belief, knows exactly what the heck is going on.

He just chooses to ignore it, until it benefits him to be more aware.

And just tell me this: who is the smarter person, the one who is constantly suspicious and unhappy, and never sees what's actually coming until it's too late, or the one who is constantly cheerful and determined, and who may not have all the facts but still manages to make things okay in the end?

An idiot should be able to tell you the answer.

… Takeshi's been called an idiot plenty of times.

He used to get mad about it, y'know?

That didn't solve anything, though.

People just kept associating him with baseball, and he didn't want to lose his friends, even if they weren't really his friends.

'I pretend to believe them, and they pretend to care.'

(Yes, he's a lot more bitter than you'd think. What? 'Still waters run the deepest', isn't that the saying?)

So he learned to laugh it off, and eventually stopped trying at everything except baseball.

'I need to be the best or else they'll all leave me.'

(Yes, he's a lot more selfish than you'd think. What? You don't think that disregarding your only living relative counts as selfishness?)

Staying after school, dedicating time on weekends, training with an obsessive fervor that scared even some of the most hard-core baseball-fanatic coaches, working and swinging until his muscles turned to goo and his skin was tanned from sunshine and his fingers were worn and dry and nearly-just-past-teetering-on-broken's-brink.

(Yes, he's a lot more self-destructive than you'd think. What? Is it healthy to wear yourself down to your limits and then get up to do it again the next day, rinse and repeat and scrub your face and soundlesssly wail from frustration?)

When his arm did go past-teetering-on-broken's-brink, he felt like he'd already floated away from Earth, with nothing anchoring him, nothing giving him a reason to stay.

.

.

.

* * *

**Background Info**

**(unnecessary details about the creation of Boxes)**

Do you know how Box Animals are created?

Of course you don't.

No one quite knows exactly, see?

That's because they were created on accident.

Oh, don't get me wrong; sure, the foundation, the idea, the blueprints were all dreamt up by Gepetto Lorenzini. And sure, the Lightning Arcobaleno Verde, and two scientists named Innocenti and Koenig were the ones to continue that research.

But the breakthrough?

The perfected process?

Those were all accidents.

(Or maybe not; a certain parallel-gazer was supposedly in frequent correspondence with the trio a few months before the first Box Weapons were produced…)

Still, if they were accidents, then at least they were happy accidents (for the trio).

One of the accidents gave them the idea of using Flame-conductive Rings to unlock the Boxes; some tricky technicalities, a very large burst of Flames, and a bit of clever reality-bending technology allowed them to solve the problem of fitting something larger than a cube into a Box, and how to get it back out in one piece.

Long story short: they essentially designed a custom-fit pocket dimension, put the item into it, and contained it inside a Flame-proof and one-way Flame-absorbent box, leaving a special "trigger" connection linked to the "keyhole". To "pull" it back out again, a compatible Ring producing a compatible Flame of sufficient purity and quantity had to be inserted into the "keyhole", thus activating the "trigger" and "pulling" the item out, in about the same condition as it was put in, though some side effects from being "fed" Flames sometimes occurred.

(Storage Boxes weren't created until much later, and they were a hassle to create; two-way "pushing" and "pulling", instead of having one item put inside before creation, was significantly more complicated. Though Verde would rather die than admit it [though he kinda died anyway, so…], he developed a very deep appreciation for the wonders of coffee. Caffeine was a godsend when you were on an all-nighter streak.

[Innocenti and Koenig aren't important enough to warrant any anecdotes on their research habits.])

But that was just Weapons. That was just inanimate, non-sentient objects.

Box Animals, on the other hand…

Well, they were based off of living organisms. Animate, sentient beings. Insects and plants and creatures.

To say that Box Weapons were the same thing, was to say that an apple was the same thing as a dragonfruit.

They were both Boxes, yes, and both metaphorical fruit, but the structure was vastly different.

For one thing, animals could feel pain. And think. And, as some theorize, reason and emote and plan.

Who knows what would happen if an animal was just recklessly shoved into a pocket dimension?

(... Well, actually, the trio knew what would happen. The end result involved quite a few vanished body parts, some mysterious and better-off-unidentified pink-ish goop, and a shriek-squeak like a strangled chipmunk.)

There needed to be a component to "bond" together the animal base and the kick-starting Flames, as well as stabilize the pocket dimension with the Box-walls, and to provide that spark of free will and life needed to make the Box Animals think for themselves, and not just act like a mechanical robot programmed to behave like an animal.

And that second breakthrough revealed the "bond"-ing component to be soul energy.

No details may be disclosed to you, dear reader, for, ah, copyright purposes of secret techniques.

Plus, well, it was all a huge fucking accidental mistake, so no one quite knows how or why the process worked, only that it did work out in the end, and the scientist masterminds of the project can replicate the accidental mistakes to a pretty secure degree, and that was enough to satisfy most of them.

The ones who aren't satisfied are dead.

Anyway, so, to wrap up, lower-level Box Animals, designed to unlock for minimums of relatively low Flame amounts and low Flame purities, have less soul energy in them.

Just enough to give them their creature characteristics and to hold together the Flames and the animal and to 'grease the cogs' of the pocket dimension accessing-routine.

Not enough for much, or any, free will/imaginative thought/higher intelligence/sophisticated logic/human-like understanding/emoting, etc.

High-level Box Animals, designed to be exclusive for those who could afford to waste a shit-load of relatively high-purity Flames just for opening the damn thing, naturally have more soul energy in them, in order to continue tying together the Flames and the animal and the 'grease cogs' yadda yadda yammy yang.

Still retaining creature characteristics, but with much more capacity for mental processing and independence, meaning that, occasionally, if under the right circumstances, they can theoretically exceed certain limits by voluntarily going above-and-beyond the 'call of duty'/their orders.

Some even develop shallow personalities of their own, inheriting traits from various past lives of the soul/soul pieces.

If a full, complete soul is managed to be used, a full, complete personality can be developed.

Memories of the soul aren't carried over, of course, since after each life cycle the soul is 'wiped clean' and 'resets', so to say. Imprints and vague, hazy impressions may be subconsciously buried, however; the fuel of those really crazily realistic dreams/nightmares you can never recall once awake.

And so, while the Box creators are the ones 'programming' their base personalities and 'editing in' their special abilities, you can think of them as scientists messing with a hybrid's DNA. Tweaking, changing, not entirely demolishing and rebuilding.

It's a subject of much speculation if Box Animals can sense each other, and communicate with each other, and it is considered more likely for the higher level Box Animals to be capable of the two.

(In other words, a short summary if you please, Vi and Natsu and the Dragon Twins [Byakuran's Dragons] and Bester, etc., etc., are essentially mindwiped reincarnations.

Yes, that's ten sorts of creepy, and fifteen shades of pure fucking awesome, thank you very much.

And random fact of the day: Byakuran's Dragon Box Weapons were built off an animal base of Komodo Dragon, Burmese Python, and fragments of pterodactyl DNA.)

* * *

**Character Spotlight**

**[Backstory Scene - Vibrazione "Vi"]**

**(life before being boxed in, a brief glimpse into irony and the badassery of ballerinas):**

Tap. Tap. Tappity-tap-tap-click-tap-smack.

"Earth to Vi? Hell-o? I come in peace, bearing offerings of coffee?"

A nicely tanned hand snapped two fingers in front of the figure sitting straight-backed at her cafe table, typing smoothly away on her sleek violet laptop.

'Vi' calmly hit 'Save' on her document, pushed up the bridge of her rimless glasses, and coolly glanced at the person who had dared to interrupt her burst of inspiration.

"I don't like coffee," she intoned flatly.

The hand-snapper rolled her eyes and sighed, languidly sliding into the seat across from 'Vi', setting down the tray of drinks she held in her other hand.

"A lukewarm welcome as always from you, o' ice queen Vivian. Ah, your heart of stone shall be worn away eventually, by my continuous trickle of persistence. And I know you don't like coffee; I've known you for 90% of your life, you obsessive author-hacker you. So I got a black coffee for me, a lemongrass tea for Claryn, a hot chocolate with cinnamon curls for Zander, and the weirdest smoothie I could find for you," she countered, sipping from her indicated drink.

Vivian 'hmm'-ed. "Eloquent as always, Jen. It's your turn to pay, anyway. You're late, too. Where's everyone else? I've been waiting for 11 minutes and 27 seconds already."

'Jen' opened her mouth to reply, but was cut off by the bell-ringing from the cafe doors.

"Jenna! Vivian! Ohmigosh I'm, like, so really freakin' sorry, but the traffic was hell and I forgot my car keys in my locker and I think I sprained something and-"

"The guy of your dreams has arrived, miladies~!"

Two different voices spoke up, from the two different people who had come through the doors.

"Whoah there, Claire-Bear, calm the fuck down and breathe. I thought we got you out of that compulsive apologizing habit?" Jenna joked, reaching forward to hug the first voice.

Claryn dropped gracelessly into one of the empty chairs and returned the hug, sighing as she ran a hand over her tight bun, "Yeah, but today was just, like, a really bad day for me. I don't want to start our get-together on a bad note, though, so how've you all been?"

"Better, now that you're here," Jenna winked suggestively, coaxing a laugh and a teasing cheek-kiss out of her girlfriend.

"Please stop your shameless flirting, it's quite annoying," Vivian muttered, tasting her smoothie. "Mmm... dragonfruit, guava, durian, lychee, pear, and strawberry-apple puree? The guava's a nice touch, and I appreciate the dragonfruit. They have such a pleasant shade of violet, don't they? Hmm, I might be able to fit that into my next draft, somewhere."

The second voice pouted and took the last chair available.

"What about me, you guuuuuyyyyyysssss? I thought you loved me!" he whined exaggeratedly, sniffing loudly to keep back faked tears. "And to think, I thought I'd find sympathetic solace here among my three bestest childhood friends, after a tragically tearful breakup with my girlfriend, ripped apart by the cruel hands of fate!"

"No, the ones 'loving' are Claire and Jen over there, Aleksandar. We're just taking advantage of you for your chocolate-chip donuts. And you have a new significant other every other week, you incorrigible, shameless manslut. Who was it this time? Ariana? Before that it was Jake, before that it was Roxxanne, before that it was Damian, before that, etc., etc., etcetera," Vivian answered unfeelingly, although she did nudge his drink towards him, a gesture that equaled a hug from anyone else.

Aleksandar made a scrunched-up face.

"You know I hate being called Aleksandar," he complained, notably not refuting her claim of him being a 'manslut'. "Reminds me of my mother, gah. You even have the rolling-accent down pat.

"And no, it was Lily. I'm thinking of going after that cute new bartender at Neon Beats. What's his name… ah, Neil! You know how I love them redheads," he added, only solidifying his reputation.

"Speaking of dates… Vi, you need to get a social life," Jenna declared decisively, cutting into the conversation.

"I fail to see how you reached that conclusion, Jen. Please, do not explain."

"I mean... Jenna's got a point, Vivian," Claryn inputted, apologetically taking her girlfriend's side.

"Yeah, when you going to find a hubby to settle down with, Vi?"

Vivian shot him a dry look of extreme irony.

"I highly doubt that you should be the one lecturing me about 'settling down', Mr. Flavor-of-the-Week," she sniped.

"Aha!" Jenna snapped her fingers and pointed grandiosely at the impassive woman. "Getting defensive now, hmm? Don't worry, Vi, we won't let you die lonely and sad with a bunch of cats! Right, guys?"

"I don't even like cats, either," Vivian protested fruitlessly, over the sounds of Jenna standing on her chair and flinging her arms wide, Claryn giggling and cheering her on, and Aleksandar punching the air with a roar of agreement and eyes glittering with plots. "... Cats keep killing the butterflies in my garden, and tearing up the violets and lavender and heliotrope flowers..."

After a few moments, they eventually calmed down from making a ruckus in the cafe, and returned to snacking and gossiping.

Ahem.

'Catching up', that is.

Totally not gossiping.

Totally.

(They had made quite a scene, though.

Jenna, tall and toned and exotic with her rich Brazilian tan, strange rosewood eyes, and layered black shoulder-waves, tied off into a high ponytail, with a clanking lapis lazuli ornament [a gift from Claryn] hanging off of the hair-tie. A social, confident dancer with a modestly successful studio, aiming to expand farther.

Claryn, still above-average height, but a couple centimeters shorter than Jenna, lean and fair-skinned, bright blue eyes and smatterings of freckles, and chest-length auburn curls pinned tightly into a perfect ballerina bun. A sweet, talented ballerina with a mostly glowing reputation, aiming to achieve 'prima donna' status as a prima ballerina.

Aleksandar, barely one centimeter below Claryn [a fact he resents greatly], fit and sunkissed, long-lashed amber eyes, and meticulously mussed hazelnut hair. A flirty, experienced scientist with a moderately thriving career, aiming to pick up more sponsored research contracts.

Vivian, at a perfectly respectable height [but still, by far, the shortest of the quartet], thin and lightly rosy,

***Incomplete Notes:

-Vivian leaves the cafe, dies from a hit-and-run

-brief funeral, maybe, with reveal that Aleksandar loved Vivian

-later, wakes up hazily and amnesiac as a soul-spirit-etc.? in the butterfly box animal

-irony points for Aleksandar having joined the mafia scientists out of bitter despair, and being the creator of the butterfly box, and thus the one who tore his friend's soul from rest

* * *

**Omake**

**(marie-anne delights in freaking out every newbie by personally introducing each and every one of her 'pets'; also, the 'new recruits welcoming speech'):**

Nervously, a crowd of nondescript 20-somethings shuffle into a dark room.

Barely anything is visible through the gloom; there are no windows, and only a dim, dusty, ancient-looking lightbulb hanging from a chain provides light, if you can even call the flickering luminescence as 'light'.

It is the sort of ominous scenery and creepy atmosphere that perfectly fits horror movies, specifically the moments when the chainsaw-wielding serial killer jumps out from behind, slams the door shut, and proceeds to gruesomely massacre everyone in the basement labeled 'DO NOT ENTER' in various unrealistic and exceedingly bloody ways that involved a lot of screaming and futile tears.

Some of the jumpier, more genre-aware recruits dart apprehensive glances at the glowing rectangle of light behind them, known at the 'Unclosed Door of Glorious Last-Minute Escapes In Case There's A Horror-Movie Serial Killer Lurking In The Room'.

Then the door closes, as a shadowy figure blurs across the light-giving rectangle and slams it shut.

Of course.

The jumpier, more genre-aware recruits proceed to collectively freak out and scream.

The less jumpier, less genre-aware recruits proceed to follow them in the freaking of the out.

A clicking noise silences everyone, and suddenly the room is brightly lit by overhead lamps.

(LED and solar-powered or Lightning-powered, considering one of the Millefiore Bosses' well-known environmental consciousness.)

Also suddenly, a very attractive woman in a lab coat is in front of them.

She's smiling.

That smile doesn't make any of them feel better.

(Many of them, noticing her height, actually feel rather cowed and ego-bruised by her intimidating stature, made that much more impressive by the 5-inch cork-wedge-heels.)

"So, you guys are the newbies~?" she questions cheerfully, eyes scrunched up into happy upside-down u's.

The ones in the crowd who have had the (mis-)fortune of meeting the white-haired Millefiore Primo shudder at the eye-smile and implied-tilde similarities between the two.

They mutely nod in unison.

She hums lightly for a few moments, opening her eyes slightly to allow verdant slits skim over the recruits, assessingly.

Her eyes close again, and without her smile or her tone wavering at all, she then tells them, "You lot are pathetic, spineless, weak, foolish, pitiful excuses for up-and-coming Mafiosi."

Patiently giving them a couple of minutes to erupt into righteous fury and complaint, she waits until they died down at the lack of response.

"Are you all done? Good. See what I mean now? Only pathetic, spineless, weak, foolish, pitiful excuses for up-and-coming Mafiosi would take such offense to that. When you have true power, you need not to take offense, because no one will dare to offend you except for those not valuing their own lives, and in those cases, you will undoubtedly have formidable subordinates eager to jump to your defense. So get it into your minds now, you whiny brats. As newbies, you're at the bottom of the ladder. You're scum. Trash. Throwaway, disposable meat-shields. Boss Fran's got no need for mere simpletons."

Smile becoming toothy, her tone drops, low and flat and full of dark promises, born from late nights in the interrogation cells committing depravities of humankind that have no place in the light, in the morn.

"And anything Boss Fran's got no need for, I get rid of for her. Capisce?"

"C-Capisco," they manage to splutter out.

Raising her tone back to it's former airiness, and smile retracting back to it's former toothlessness, she fully opens her eyes and looks to be the epitome of reassuring.

"Luckily for you, if you have reached this far, then you've been deemed capable enough to potentially move up the ladder from 'meat-shield' to 'lackey', and have showed an inclination or aptitude towards the Interrogation specialization. I'm Marie-Anne, the Interrogation Department Head. Also known as, your future boss if you're slotted to be an Interog, and your future Captain if you make it into Gray Spell Squad 5 Odontoglossum.

"Yes, every Squad has both a color, a number, and a flower name. Welcome to Millefiore, where flowers are the best thing since marshmallows and guava-being-used-in-dishes. No, not every person specialized as that specialization will be on the same Squad. That's just asking for sabotage and becoming easy pickings on missions.

"By the way, saboteurs are sneaky little silver-tongued bastards, and I've got six of 'em on my Squad who I'm so fucking proud of you won't even believe. Squads don't room together, and we don't always train together, since self-initiation is expected, but we're the closest thing you've got to family in the Millefiore. We stick together, and you'd better remember that well, or else next thing you know, somebody files a complaint, someone comes to evaluate us, and then you're gone like the wind.

"Anyway, back to the missions. Overspecialization will kill you faster than incompetence, because all that means is that you have one area you aren't incompetent in, and then you get cocky, and then you're buried six feet under since you were caught in an area that you don't specialize in. Some would say that I'm overspecialized. Those people are all either dead, or wishin' they were. Yes, I specialize in Interrogation. I don't overspecialize. I know how to fight, how to lie, to defend myself. You pick up all of these eventually, from 'osmosis' by being around different specialists. We've got all types in the Millefiore. Besides, I stick mostly to my safe job down in the cells, getting traitors to squeal."

Marie-Anne pauses, stares at them, hard and intent.

"Boss Fran hates traitors. Hates them. And she's not the type to expend effort on hating. So, let me warn you all now. I really fucking hate traitors more than anything in this whole fucking screwed up world. We even have a rule on traitors, which should be on the first page of your 'Basic Millefiore Manual'."

She waits again, this time for them to open up their brightly-colored, thin handbooks, printed with easy-to-read, crisp letters on slightly-shiny waterproof pages.

(The Publication Department and the Informing [Propaganda] Department are both under the PR Department's umbrella of control.

Millefiore's Bosses are wise enough and canny enough to invest in a very, very good PR Department, as well as keep up a 'clean, official, civilian business company' cover to deflect suspicion. 'Oceania Conglomerated', for the Mare Rings. It's decided that 'Oceania Conglomerated' will be renamed as 'Millefiore United' once they've finally gained total control over the Mafia and have shadow-control over the world.

Fran is a fan of irony, and Byakuran likes the symbolism of the matter.)

The Traitor Rule: DON'T.

***Incomplete Notes:

-Fluffles the Deathstalker Scorpion

-Ciggy the ultra-venomous Cone Snail

-Gladys the venomous and spiky Stonefish

-Mamby-Pamby-Boo the sleepy and irritated Black Mamba

-Nara the Second the Poison Dart Frog (who was named after her Box Animal)

-Fluffy-Wuffy-Puffy-McGuffy the (relatively harmless, actually) Puffer Fish

-Pom-Pom the shy and 'bleed-from-every-pore-with-a-bite' Boomslang

-Giggles the venomous and silent Box Jellyfish

-Smiley the throat-ripping and disinterested Komodo Dragon

-Rug the darker 'bleed-from-every-pore-with-a-bite' Carpet Viper

-Yonder the Brazilian Wandering Spider strictly under orders to be kept in his cage

-Princess Cerulean Sapphire Blues the lurking and terrifyingly-venomous Blue-ringed Octopus

-and, of course, Bonecruncher Bloodbather the perfectly ordinary, harmless kitten who happens to have the same eyeshade as Frances

* * *

**Extra Scene**

**(the unspoken Millefiore rules, Part I):**

_1\. Take to your grave any moments of vulnerability seen._

You open the door to the office, and confirm it's safe, after a cursory surroundings scan.

Leader Fran brushes by curtly, her cloak slightly damp, her hair unusually disheveled, and her fingertips dyed a startling crimson against her perfect porcelain skin.

It has been storming, yes, but her cloak is waterproof.

The scarlet nails faintly smell of a metallic tang.

… She never paints her nails on a casual basis.

You avert your eyes as Leader Fran collapses gracelessly into her swiveling armchair, and try very hard to not think of what was really staining her cloak and her hands.

(You fail.)

Leader Fran has her head cradled in her arms, now.

She is quiet, resting, bracing herself against the surface of her desk.

Closing the door behind you, you stand, unimposing, in the corner, and await further instructions.

Or dismissals.

Judging by the tense, oppressing silence emitted by Leader Fran on the ride back to base, it will probably be the latter.

It is, however, not too surprising when she picks the former.

Leaders Fran and Byakuran are masters at defying expectations, after all.

Or maybe it has to do with her mission today?

19 is awfully young to be out slaughtering and committing massacres.

But the Millefiore lack the long, illustrious history, and publicly proven power that back up the boasts (the threats the promises the reputations) of the Mafia 'Elite'.

Thus, the only feasible way to rise the ranks as rapidly and as ambitiously as they aim for, is to cover themselves in the carnage of their enemies, dance daringly before the others, unashamedly flaunting their indisputable right to be feared, be respected, be known.

19 is awfully young to be a Donna and a killer, yes, but she's been a Donna since 13, and there have been far younger killers in the Mafia.

(Sometimes, you despise every fiber of the Cosa Nostra's being.

Sometimes, as in every fucking day you force yourself to get out of the Millefiore barracks and start your work, seeing the frightened eyes of detainees in the Interrogation Department, hearing the anguished cries of enemies in the mission video-reports, cleaning the pained wounds of civilians in the crossfire's aftermath.

It's worth it, though, because the Millefiore are the good guys, the Leaders are the good guys, and the Millefiore Leaders will lead them into a better, brighter, beautiful future.

Isn't it worth it then?

... It has to be.

It has to.)

Leader Fran snaps her fingers, conjuring a basin of fresh, clean water.

(An illusion, of course.

But can you tell the difference between fine illusions and coarse reality?

Or rather, would you have been able to tell, if you hadn't spent the last few years of your life training to identify exactly that?

You train because you don't want to be helpless in the face of illusionary realities.

You train because you don't want to be the latest civilian casualty from Flame-centered warfare.

You train because you fear that if you lose yourself just once, you will never wake up.

And there are illusionists out there who can make you die with a smile on your bliss, exiting this world in a muffled cocoon of artificial euphoria.

Literally, so happy that you die.

... That scares you.

A lot.

Especially since you know very well that Leader Fran is one of those illusionists.

Is it nerve-wracking to spend day after day in the Millefiore as an achingly vulnerable mouse scurrying about under the supposed protection and tutelage of constantly watching, waiting cats?

Yes, of course.

Is it worth it?

You feel yourself get stronger, get more prepared.

You hope that it is.

Even as the cats only get stronger and more prepared as well, forever outclassing the pitiful mice by a gap that can span the cosmos.)

It remains quiet as she furiously scrubs at her fingers, a barely-there downward tilt to her lips signifying her utter disgust.

"Sometimes," she begins, her voice ringing crisply in the empty void of words, never raising her head to look up, never no not once.

"Sometimes, I hate this. I hate this a lot. It's different from indifference, or dislike, or irritation, or annoyance. It's different. It's deeper, it's darker, it's /meaningful/, and that scares me. Really, truly, scares me. If feeling cold and numb is what fear is. I wouldn't know. I never seem to know what fear and happiness and rage and sorrow is. Not exactly. And that scares me as well, as much as I can be scared.

"Sometimes, I wonder. I wonder a lot, too. I wonder why I do this. I wonder why I bothered in the first place. I wonder why I didn't just walk away, didn't just cut ties and change identities and sink into harmless civilian obscurity. But then I remember. I remember that the last option was never really an option, not a realistic one, anyway. If the Mafia really wanted me, really needed me, then they would've easily been able to track me down and overpower me, forced me to bend to their whims. And they undoubtedly wanted me, needed me. They needed their Decima.

"So I said yes. I went along, I agreed. Being a civilian would've only guaranteed that I'd be defenseless and weak when they came. It wouldn't have guaranteed that they'd never find me, that they never came. I was 13, and as you know, 13 year olds don't exactly make the best life choices. In my defense, I didn't know what I was getting into."

Leader Fran pauses, glancing down at the pale pink swirls lazily curling in the water.

"I don't think anyone does, not really."

You do not respond; she does not expect you to.

(But privately, you think: "Yes, that's it, that's it exactly. That's how I feel, how I felt, how I think, how I thought. And maybe I understand you better now, too. And maybe you understand us more than you give yourself credit for.")

After another beat, Leader Fran picks up again, although clearly winding down.

"Sometimes I really hate life," she muses, picking absently at her fingers.

Her head slowly turns toward the dark, lightning-lit skies outside her window.

"Most of the time, though, enough of the time, I hate death more."

A twitch of her fingers, and the curtains fly closed, smoothly covering the glass pane.

You find it mildly disturbing (and more than a little sad) that her entire rant-of-sorts never deviated from a flat monotone.

Still, you do not comment.

At least, not on that.

"... Leader Byakuran requests your presence at a post-mission briefing in his office, Leader Fran," you murmur softly, as per your job.

Leader Fran scoffs, mockingly derisive, though her clinically detached tone has not wavered a single pitch.

"Tell him I refuse. In fact, I'll be taking the rest of my day off. I won't be seeing any visitors."

You pause.

You mark it down on your communication pad.

It is not your place to question your superiors.

(And maybe, just maybe, you're feeling a twinge of sympathy for the cold, caustic, lonely Leader Fran.

If it'll help her, even a little bit, to not meet with Leader Byakuran...

... Then, well, it's not like you're breaking any rules with this.

Just orders.)

"Will that be all, Leader Fran?"

She hesitates.

"Get... get me the bottle of champagne that Byakuran gifted me before the mission."

You nod, obedient.

In a matter of minutes, it is done.

Leader Fran has not stirred from her position.

"And a cup."

A glass tumbler, elegantly crafted so as to gleam from every angle, is set before her on her desk.

Leader Fran stares at the bottle for a long moment, running her fingers over the streamlined curves, turning it over to examine the flawless facets.

She blinks, and uncorks the bottle, pouring out a thin stream of bubbly pink liquid into the tumbler, that fizzes and pops gently.

The cup is regarded with a level gaze, and an intensity not dissimilar to a battle stance.

"Get out," Leader Fran suddenly snaps.

You do not raise inquiries, and instead exit the room.

Before you close the door, two startlingly loud shattering sounds slip through.

You need not look back to know what you will find.

Leader Fran, blankly watching the cracked remains of the cup and the bottle, lying in a broken heap, the wallpaint stained and dripping from where she had flung them.

Leader Fran, clutching her bloodied hands and wearing her bloodied cloak, desperately attempting to wash off the permanent phantom stains on her soul.

(Leader Fran, who is a bitterly honest and brutally fair boss, but who had never once in the past two hours looked at you, or any other subordinate, in the face.

Leader Fran, who is awfully young to be burdened with such responsibility.

And such guilt.

... If she even knew what that was.)

You head to Leader Byakuran's office to inform him that Leader Fran will not be joining him for the post-mission briefing, because she wishes to take the rest of the day off.

"Oh~? Is Francy-chan quite alright?" Leader Byakuran asks, tone lightly puzzles, head tilted and fingers steepled.

He looks innocent, sincere.

Like he really wants to know, like he really is concerned.

('Do you really care?' you think.

'Do you even know how to care?'

Many of your coworkers are fond of joking about the 'romantic-relationship-between-Bosses' Millefiorian conspiracy, but that's just that.

A joke.

Is it true...?

Some might steadfastly say 'yes, of course', and point out all the obvious 'traditionally romantic' gestures and words shared between them.

As for you, you are of the opinion that both Bosses are not much for 'tradition', and indeed, tend to mislead and confuzzle, even if not on purpose.

So...

'Is it true?'

should be

'Can it even happen?'

Then again, the 'impossibility barriers' are broken just as easily as centuries-of-tradition when it comes to the 'revolutionary' actions of the Millefiore.)

You answer, calm and professional and placid.

"Leader Fran appeared to be no different from usual, if a bit tired. If it is not too presumptuous of me to hazard a guess, I'd say that she merely wishes to recover from the stress and strain of her daily workloads. She is very dedicated to her duties."

(It makes some sense to you now, how Leaders Byakuran and Fran can partner together so well.

He pushes her, breaks her.

Presumably, she pushes him, breaks him.

But they're both broken, if they weren't always broken, and two such broken people are said to be able to recognize each other intimately.

Besides-

It's not like the world isn't broken, the Millefiore isn't broken, and you aren't broken, too.

We're just a broken dollhouse full of broken dolls, aren't we all?

"It's easier to build strong children than to repair broken men."

True, true.

But…

"The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are just stronger than others at the broken places."

You think that Leaders Byakuran and Fran are the strongest broken people you know.

Really, the strongest people in general.)

* * *

**Omake**

**(that moment when you realize something so obvious and everything makes sense now; okay, well, one thing makes sense now; or- Marie-Anne is Fran's Gokudera/Genkishi; or- Marie-Anne conspiracy theory):**

"Hey, Francy-chan?"

"...?"

"I think I've just had a revelation."

"And why do I care?"

"It's about Marie-Anne. Her and you, to be exact."

"Okay. So what is it?"

"Well, you know how Tsunayoshi-kun has Gokudera-kun as his right-hand man? Or, in other words, a person completely obsessed and dedicated to serving his every command, practically worshiping him? Calling him, ah, 'Jyuudaime' or 'Tenth' and all that? Since he saved his life or whatnot? Snapping at who he sees as 'opponents' for his position of right-hand man?"

"Common knowledge and a common point of humor, yes."

"Then, isn't Genkishi-kun-"

"That fucking traitorous bitchin' bastard-"

"-essentially the Gokudera-kun to my Decimo? Think about it: I'm technically the Gesso Decimo. Genkishi-kun sees himself as my right-hand man, and I truthfully do tend to relegate most of my work-"

"Slacking off on paperwork you lazy cheating asshole-"

"-to him since he seems so eager to do it, and always does very well, too, so who am I to deprive him of that pleasure-"

"More fucking 'innocent' excuses to cover up your lazyass procrastinating-"

"-? So there's that. He used to insist on referring to me as a kami [god]... oh, sorry, you don't like Japanese, right?"

"I know Japanese. I just dislike you insisting on using Japanese honorifics and inserting random Japanese words into a conversation when we're usually stationed in Italy and speak Italian. Spanner's Japan-fetish has gotten so much worse, and about 1/3 of the Millefiore have started using honorifics as well, even when giving reports to me in Italian, and even when they're stationed in Canada. Another 3/5 of the Millefiore don't even know Japanese, you realize?"

"I'm taking that as a 'yes, Byakuran, I understood that term, and you're a wonderfully talented super smart handsome genius'-"

"It's like you're just asking for me to ban marshmallows from the kitchen-"

"-ahem. Anyway... Genkishi-kun used to refer to me as a 'god' until I made him stop, since the Catholics in Italy are touchy about that sort of thing, y'know? Even then, he keeps calling me Byakuran-sama-"

"The entire Japanese-speaking portion and even some of the non-Japanese-speaking White Spell call you that-"

"-, which parallels Gokudera-kun's reverent title for his Decimo. Because I saved Genkishi-kun's life-"

"By cheating again with your Mare Ring and anyways you should've just left that traitorous bastard to die oh wait nevermind since you were the one to make him go traitor in the first place-"

"-like Tsunayoshi-kun saved Gokudera-kun's. And Genkishi-kun seems to harbor an inexplicable animosity towards Sho-chan, perhaps because he thinks Sho-chan will try and 'usurp' his right-hand man position-"

"I still think it's because that traitorous bastard believes that you two are too close and possibly gay for each other and he's jealous since he's hero-worshiping you-"

"-, similar to how Gokudera-kun seems to clash often with Yamamoto-kun. Which is all evidence proving that Genkishi-kun is the Gokuder-kun to my Decimo."

"That has nothing to do with Marie-Anne and I."

"Yes, it does. See, since you're technically a Decima, the Giglio Nero Decima-"

"I said to never remind me of that, Byakuran-"

"-, then who's the person who fulfills all the requirements of being your theoretical 'Gokudera-kun'? Who's your right-hand woman who worships you, gives you a title, had her life saved by you, and snaps at someone they see as a rival who is close to you?"

"... Are you trying to make me say 'Marie-Anne'?"

"It. All. Fits! She's the one you go to first when you want something done, she's your second-in-command for Gray Spell Commander, calls you 'Boss Fran', has everyone else in the Gray Spell calling you 'Boss Fran' or something equivalent, if you count 'giving her a purpose in life to live for' as 'saving' then you saved her life, and-"

"Wait-"

"-... hmm, I never really thought about the last one-"

"-, then isn't she supposed to hate-"

'-... Gamma? But doesn't-"

"-she keep acting all lovey-dovey around him? With frilly, dolled-up sparkly presents?"

"Unless-"

"-it's all acting! And she's really-"

"Just trying to mess with his mind!"

"And catch him off guard while examining his weaknesses without appearing suspicious!"

They traded glances, wide-eyed.

Shaky laughter.

"I mean, that's kinda paranoid of us, dontcha think, Francy-chan?"

"... Yeah. I suppose that level of acting would be discovered by us almost immediately, wouldn't it?"

"Marie-Anne is too genuine for that. She's fierce with the recruits, yeah, and terrifyingly good at both her job and getting retribution on your defense, but her crush on Gamma seems to real to be faked."

"And... all those times Gamma got a bloodless animal heart in a box with a dagger stabbed through it, or love poems written in a suspiciously crimson and metallic-smelling ink, or had severe allergic reactions to his food that Marie-Anne had switched out for her handmade desserts and offerings-"

"-Were surely just a creepily cute way of her showing her affections. And the allergies... she made unlucky choices in ingredients. Surely."

"Surely."

"Yes. Surely."

They traded glances again, wider-eyed.

Shakier laughter that fooled neither.

The door to the Captain's Lounge opened.

"Hello, Boss Fran~! Oh, and Mr. Byakuran, too! Have you seen Gamma recently? I'm looking for him right now; I wanted him to taste my new and improved pasta sauce! The idea for improving struck me while I was at work a few days ago, in the 'detainment cells', tor-talking to one of the 'detainees'!"

She held up a smooth glass jar filled with a viscous red solution, a silk ribbon tied around it, and a heavy scent coming off of the ribbon.

"I added cinnamon perfume to the ribbon! Doesn't it smell lovely?" she confided merrily.

/Cassia is an ingredient in rat poison with many negative effects by itself... it is also commonly mistaken for cinnamon, because of it's strong physical resemblence and aroma./

Marie-Anne cocked her head in confusion as the two Bosses immediately left the lounge.

'Oh, well, maybe they had an appointment or something.'

The Head of Interrogation shrugged it off, clutched her jar close to her chest, and bounced off cheerfully to seek out Gamma.

* * *

#

**#**

**#**

**A short omake to end on.**

**I know, I know. First real update in ages, and it's not even a proper chapter? Sorry about that. But there's all this stuff that never really had a place in the story, so they were left half-written until I finished them and shunted them in here.**

**Only some parts of the story have been revised, and I might go back and revise those a second time as well.**

**Warning: more people will die this time.**

**Ernest Hemingway and Frederick Douglass are the ones who said those last two quotes, in that order, though I added a bit to Douglass' quote.**

**And, for Fran's father, I don't remember ever stating his name, but if I did, just take this version as the correct one, okay?**

**Yes, the mention of '2.0' is a spoiler from a yet-to-be-released chapter, concerning where, exactly, Yuni went all of those years. If you read some of the revised stuff, there's a part that has another spoiler, and you can probably fit it together from there as long as you get the reference.**

**#**

**#**

**-Please review.-**

**~Insert witty thing there.~**

* * *

**Character Study**

**(everybody's a cynic, extended version):**

.

.

.

"_Watch what people are cynical about, and one can often discover what they lack." - George S. Patton_

Xanxus

.

.

.

"_Cynicism stems from disappointment. Cynical and faithless people were not always like that. They were filled with possibilities and hope as kids. But they tried and perhaps failed." - Robin S. Sharma_

Fran

.

.

.

"_Yeah, it's pretty hard not to be completely cynical these days." - David Byrne_

Aria

.

.

.

"_Being cynical isn't necessarily being negative or bitter. It's a person who is wary of mistaking love for something that it's not and getting their heart broken." - Charlyne Yi_

Fran

_._

_._

_._

"_No matter how cynical you become, it's never enough to keep up." - Lily Tomlin_

Shoichi

_._

_._

_._

"_A cynic is a man who knows the price of everything, and the value of nothing." - Oscar Wilde_

Mammon

_._

_._

_._

* * *

**Character Study**

**(hate is a lot of different things to a lot of different people):**

.

.

.

_"I say what I want to say and do what I want to do. There's no in between. People will either love you for it or hate you for it." - Eminem_

Squalo

.

.

.

_"I hate to advocate drugs, alcohol, violence, or insanity to anyone, but they've always worked for me." - Hunter S. Thompson_

Xanxus

.

.

.

_"A flower doesn't love or hate you. It just exists." - Mike White_

Byakuran

.

.

.

_"Always remember, others may hate you. But those who hate you don't win unless you hate them. And then you destroy yourself." - Richard M. Nixon_

Renato Sinclair

.

.

.

_"Jealousy is just love and hate at the same time." - Drake_

Skull

.

.

.

_"The worst thing I can be is the same as everybody else. I hate that." - Arnold Schwarzenegger_

Hibari Kyoya

.

.

.

_"From the deepest desires often come the deadliest hate." - Socrates_

Belphegor is a prince.

That is an indisputable fact.

Rasiel is Belphegor's brother.

That is an unavoidable fact.

Belphegor is second-in-line to the throne, since he is the younger of the two twins.

Rasiel is, thus, destined by birthright to be king.

Belphegor hates Rasiel, oh, and destiny, too.

Those are all facts.

True facts.

A fact has to be true to be a fact, true?

True.

Those are all true facts...

And those true facts are all connected by one other true fact.

Belphegor wants to be king.

(... Well, wanted to be king, since he's technically exiled now, and thus the Veles bloodline of ruling royalty has technically ended at Rasiel Gerrard Kralinski Veles the 21st, who died an hour before his coronation, meaning there's no one to inherit now. Exile excludes one from making a claim to the throne.

No matter.

Belphegor's still a prince, and he knows he should be king, but there's no king and there's no one to take away his title of prince, so everything's good.)

.

.

.

_"I hate people saying anything stupid. I don't really suffer fools very people are acting like idiots, not that I'm not guilty of doing the odd idiotic thing myself from time to time, but when people say stupid things, it stresses me out." - Joshua Jackson_

Verde doesn't understand what is so difficult to comprehend about his distaste towards human companionship and human interaction in general.

It's easy to state.

'Humans are weak, humans are stupid.'

Usually, they are.

.

.

.

* * *

**Extra Scene**

**(in their defense):**

***Incomplete Summary:

-rationalization and sympathetic viewpoint for the excluding Giglio Nero that Fran recalls from her admittedly biased childhood

-there's this strange, creepy little too-smart daughter of your boss, who sulks and never smiles and has weird moodswings about whether or not she wants to talk to you; plus, she's a bastard child from your boss' first lover who was killed before engagement and who most of the famiglia have never known, and who she looks just like

-her natural presence feels cold and sharp and off-putting, too, with her secondary sky flames messing with the bad-reputation mist flames

-people are of course going to be afraid, wary of her

-and then comes along this perfect, shining, adorably smiling and earnest second daughter with warm, pure sky flames shining with innocence; plus, she's a legitimate daughter from an amiable and nice if soft civilian, who married your boss before also getting killed, and the daughter looks just like your beloved boss

-_her_ natural presence is charismatic and inviting and seemingly angelic

-people are of course going to flock to her instead of the loner, bitter (desperately-lonely-but-doesn't-know-how-to-show-it-and-is-too-proud-to-do-so) firstborn

* * *

**Omake**

**(a day out/off/in town; or- byakuran is curious and uses a favor, fran grudgingly lets him tag along, and no, it is most definitely _not_ a date so shut _up_ byakuran and if you'd just kept your mouth shut it would've even been _nice_; or- fran wallows in denial at the end of a very nice daytrip):**

* * *

**Extra Scene**

**(good cop, bad cop, in between x 3, reshuffled; warning - mentions of torture):**

There are things

***Incomplete Summary:

-quite graphic torture scenes, in an effort to add a darker look to the casual joking malice of the Millefiore's higher-ups

-fran in the 'good guy' role, byakuran in the 'neutral guy' role, marie-anne in the 'bad guy' role

-byakuran in the 'good guy' role, marie-anne in the 'neutral guy' role, fran in the 'bad guy' role

-marie-anne in the 'good guy' role, fran in the 'neutral guy' role, byakuran in the 'bad guy' role

-"You can trust me."

-"Do you trust me?"

-"Aw, I'm starting to think that you don't trust me."

-"Sorry; your trust was misplaced."

* * *

**Extra Scene**

**(a millefiore takeover, from the eyes of a Mafioso, and the eyes of a Mafioso in hiding, and the eyes of an ordinary citizen):**

* * *

**Extra Scene**

**(a drabble regarding aria's love for the different members of her ragtag family, and the difference between them):**

Campion Brume is _beautiful._

He's witty and charming and delightfully daydreamy, among other virtues such as being an excellent cook and nearly as good of a baker as her mother supposedly was and considerate and neat and extraordinarily talented in the arts-

But above all, Campion Brume is beautiful.

Aria's 20, young and tired from a lifetime of ruling the Giglio Nero ever since she could remember, ever since her mother barely made it past childbirth before her death.

She decides to take a vacation; a week is all that can be spared, and bodyguards will discreetly trail her every footstep, and naturally she cannot step outside of range of the assorted Giglio Nero secret bases.

It's still a vacation, one she intends to take advantage of.

The first thing she does is book a tour of Italy's historical and world-famous attractions, in an attempt to live the 'tourist life' for once and see her beloved homeplace in a different, more appreciative light.

A new perspective, so to say.

Artsy Campion, Frenchman to the core, if a rather oddly colored one, what with his teal hair and teal eyes that he swears up and down and sideways are absolutely 100% natural.

**.**

She was certainly _fond_ of Shin, much like one can be indulgently fond of an exceedingly well-tempered, well-behaved, faithful old dog.

A dog fits Fukui Shin well; er, that is, Shin Fukui. He is loyal, he is pleasant, he is eager to please and utterly devoted to her.

Which made her a bit uneasy, to be honest.

Aria knows she didn't love him the way he did, and knows she never would've.

Shin was so... boring. And tame. And dull, in comparison to _Campion._

***Incomplete Notes:

-fluffy romancing between Aria and Campion

-slightly sad courtship between earnest Shin and i-don't-really-love-you-but-i-pretend-to-because-i-feel-guilty-you-love-me-so-much Aria

-some musings on Fran and Yuni

* * *

**Background Info**

**(prompted drabble millefiore drabble stuffies):**

**.**

**[Bullet]**

**.**

**[Lesson]**

"Logic is for people who have no good comebacks."

Fran valiantly resisted the urge to zap Genkishi with a bolt of Mist Flames.

**.**

**[Wind]**

**.**

**[Cruelty]**

**.**

**[Kindness]**

**.**

**[Religion]**

**.**

**[Fire]**

**.**

**[Winter]**

Winter is cold.

Fran dislikes the cold, hates it even, if she's willing to admit that it matters enough to her for her to hate it.

So why in the world is she lying spread-eagled flat on the Millefiore roof, wearing nothing more than her usual attire?

It's because...

As much as Fran dislikes (hates) the cold, sometimes the cold is just what you need.

(Even if the cold reminds her of lonely crevices and cat-foot trails.)

Her rooms are just a floor below, cozy and warm, heated and featuring typical crackling hearths, blankets and pillows strewn everywhere, in case she decides to do a bit of impromptu winter hibernation.

It feels _too_ cozy and warm, though, like the air is pushing against her, smothering her, the fire's crackles twisting into sharp cracks and snaps and explosions.

Fran needs to get away from it all.

(There are times when you need to be alone.)

On the floor above, it is cool and wintry, hoarfrost eating up the solar panels and one-way glass roof, buried underneath a blanket of snow and a pillow of her own hair, mussed and chilled to the roots.

It feels clean, deathly quiet, like she's the only one around for miles, the only one alive.

Exhaling a soft, long, sinuous stream of nebulous breath, Fran watches it rise and then disperse, torn apart raggedly by irregular northern winds.

She closes her eyes.

(Always, always a constant stream of information from Vi, from drones, a constant pressure in the back of her head, in the bursting files of her mindscape cabinets.)

Arms settled on either side, legs angled slightly apart, a strangely living snow angel with teal hair that may as well be neon green for how much it stands out against the purity of it's background.

_Don't you need to die to become an angel?_

Like she said, it's deathly quiet, and if she breathes very, very, very gently through her nose, keeps very, very, very still, lets the chill from her hair seep in through her clothes, traveling very, very, very slowly into skin and flesh and blood and bones, until even her too-loud too-warm heartbeat deadens off into murmuring and it's her and the snow and the sky all frozen into one single being of pure perfection...

(Wipe the slate clean, regress and repress, _breathe_.)

If that is how it feels to be dead, to die, Fran dazedly thinks that she wouldn't mind it at all.

A feather-light weight brushes against her brow, another one kissing the arctic into her lips.

Ah.

It's snowing.

She's stilled and she's chilled and she doesn't want to move from that spot, that spot where the snow around and under her has already melted and refrozen, harder, colder, icier.

Maybe if she waits long enough, the snowfall will blanket over _her_ as well, until the white just goes on forever and forever, the living-dead snow angel's teal hair glossed over, the living-dead snow angel forgotten entirely, the dead snow angel, the snow angel, the angel.

Would it feel nice to be an angel, she wonders?

The cold is doing whimsically fanciful things to her head, most likely, and her skin is sheer cold and her skin is numb and her skin probably has frostbite by now, but past her skin-deep shivering is her placidly frozen core of absolute clarity, like everything makes so much more sense in the cold, and she can't quite recall remember recollect why she would ever hate the cold in the first place, because she is snow and she is perfect and-

A harsh sound rings out, something she vaguely identifies as the metallic slam of a door, magnified by the silence, and she half wants to rise up like that spiraling swirl of breath and scold the perpetrator for shattering the sacred silence, but snow does not do that, and she feels so sleepy that maybe she'll just nip right off for a quick nap.

"Francy-chan? What are you doing on the roof? Quick, you're half-frozen, I thought you were supposed to be the reasonable one!"

Urgent, a low voice hastens over, footsteps crunching on the packed snow.

She hears it, faintly familiar, words all garbled up and passing through a muffled wall, and part of her strains to listen, and part of her dismisses it.

Unimportant, unimportant.

Warm hands scoop her up, and she gasps, a sharp, painful echo, and hisses, curling inwards from the searing too-hot heat, breathing in the crisp air.

Her eyes are kept closed, too heavy and numbed to force open, besides, she has a feeling the light would be too strong anyway.

Undeterred, the warm hands shift her position a little, picking her limp body up, muttering nonsense concepts she blearily half-hears like "have to get rid of the snow" and "melt off the residue cold" and "I think I have a hot water bottle somewhere and I know she keeps a few stashed somewhere in her cupboards but damnit those security systems are a bitch and a half to get past and damned if this doesn't look as suspicious as hell" and "oh wait maybe I should just go to the infirmary hmm yeah that sounds better".

They move, a jogging, careful, still-jolting motion, and after a few more hisses she relaxes and molds herself to the heat source, because suddenly both parts of her are screaming (loudly, too-loudly, I just want to _sleep_, _why won't you go away?_) that _heat_ is so much more important than _cold_, as ludicrous of a prospect that is, and at the very least she has to trust _herself_, right?

The heat source tenses slightly (surprised?), but relaxes as well and goes with it, shifting her again to accommodate her sudden clinginess, moving a little faster.

A harsh sound happens again (door opening?), and the air is bathing her in much-needed heat.

Frost is dripping off her fingers and her clothes are un-stiffening and she feels almost like a human again.

Fran (yes, yes, that's her name, Fran) exhales once more, practically a sigh of satisfaction, and whoever is carrying her laughs.

It's a quiet laugh, thankfully, because noise is as distasteful a concept as the cold is right now.

"What were you even doing outside?"

That much, Fran can hear, and she mumbles back a blurry, "I was feeling how dying feels like."

The unidentified (but oh-so-familiar) person tenses again.

She nearly manages to blink her eyelids open, when, drained, she finally succumbs to the urge for sleep.

Winter is cold, but right now it's warm, and that's all that matters.

.

Fran wakes up three days later, under about five different blankets and fifty different hot water bottles in her bed, totally confused.

Vi had gone back to her Box two days ago, from running out of Flames, so she opts to ask Byakuran, who is, for some reason, dozing off on her couch.

A cup of cold water [that she holds with as few fingers as possible] is dumped over him to wake him up.

"Why are you on my couch and why was I stacked under so many comforters and hot water bottles in my bed and why does my info-pad say the date is three days off from what I remember. Speak. Now."

Byakuran holds up his hands in surrender.

"You fell asleep outside in the snow."

She pauses, lowering the staff pointed at his neck.

"But I dislike the cold," she points out, puzzled. "Why would I be outside in the snow?"

He shrugs, eyes crinkling up and becoming harder to read.

"I don't know, Francy-chan. Ill-timed Flame exhaustion? A fit of inexplicable claustrophobia?"

Fran eyes him suspiciously but he seems to be truthful so she nods and accepts that answer.

Then she lowers the staff completely, invites him to her kitchen for a cup of her best wildflower tea, and duly kicks him out of her rooms.

Absently, as Fran makes her bed, she absently notes how warm Byakuran's was when she handed him his cup.

**.**

**12\. Mortality**

**.**

**13\. Sauna**

**.**

**14\. Clutch**

**.**

**15\. Wednesday**

**.**

**16\. Cavity**

**.**

**17\. Engaged**

**.**

**18\. Saint**

**.**

**19\. Sinner**

**.**

**20\. Vacation**

**.**

**21\. Glamour**

**.**

**22\. Downfall**

**.**

**23\. Desperate**

There is a lot to be said about what humankind will steep to in true desperation.

Tsunayoshi unlocked powers of legendary status in order to save his friends.

Reborn voluntarily locked away much of himself in order to save his sanity.

Timoteo froze a person he regarded as a child and as a son in order to save his Famiglia.

Iemitsu left behind the one he married and the one he created in order to save his family.

Mukuro massacred hundreds and razed a building to the ground in order to save his life.

Bianca forced her own flesh and blood to kill her to fool the Gesso in order to save her son.

Bianchi allowed her fratellino to stay with who made him happy in order to save her brother.

Hibari reluctantly crowded with a pack of herbivores in order to save his town.

Chrome deleted her former identity and cut ties in order to save her hope.

**.**

**24\. Denied**

**.**

**25\. Vexation**

**.**

**26\. Justice**

**.**

**27\. Mistake**

**.**

**28\. Paranoia**

**.**

**29\. Surprise**

* * *

**Omake**

**(literature and gardens and a secretarial taskforce):**

Byakuran blinks, and scrunches up his eyebrows quizzically.

"You're code-naming all of your secretaries? _Why?_ Aren't, like, 95% of them Cervello, and the rest a mixture of your hand-picked, personally-recruited choices, unaffiliated with anyone other than you?"

"Yes. If the CEDEF Head can have a bunch of subordinates named after _herbs_ of all things, then I reserve the right to name my special taskforce with a far more superior theme."

"Um... your list of codenames have a theme?"

Exasperated eye-roll, insert here.

"_Obviously,_ you uncultured cretin. They're all different labels for poetry types. I _do _read on my days off."

Blank look, from Byakuran this time, not the usual Fran.

"You have days off? Since when?"

Exasperated eye-roll and sigh, insert here.

"Of _course_. Even the grunts and meatshields and minions, ahem, _lower-ranked members_, are entitled to a week of paid vacation and free health care every year. The Millefiore is a _highly_ sophisticated, advanced, modernized, and employee-oriented organization. Or, at least, our cover as 'Oceania Conglomerated' is. You might actually _know_ these things if you ever_ did_ any of your (goddamned) paperwork. Oh, wait, I mean, if you ever did any of the paperwork that you _delegate_ like the (cheating bastard) slacker you are."

"Hey-! ... I would argue further, but you're kinda right."

"I'm always right."

"Well, actually- wait, _'special taskforce'?_ I thought they were your secretaries?"

"You have bodyguards. You literally have _'bodyguards'_ listed as the members of Squad 0, which you're the Captain of. Therefore, your accusations are baseless and hypocritical. Every time someone is a hypocrite, a baby turtle dies. Don't be a turtle-killer, Byakuran."

"I'm a Captain?"

"... I give up on you."

.

_[Three Days Later...]_

**In the Gray Spell Official Office:**

"Cinquain, where are the forms for Squad transfer requests?"

"Oh, Haiku rearranged the filing systems again. Busy today, Terza-Rima? Here, take this. Who's it for?"

"Eh, someone asked Epigram about it, since she's the Head of Counseling, and you know how she is about her privacy policies. I'm just handing one off to Diamante."

"Diamante's out, though; he's making copies for Pantoum."

"But then do you know where Epigram is?"

"I think she's helping Kennings with decrypting an anonymous message for the Bosses. Ode was in charge of the outside-mail inbox yesterday, and he marked it as a possible threat. Limerick and Ranga ran a few tests on it, passed it over the analyzers and purifiers down in the labs, and Rondeau just got back an hour ago with the results clearing the letter for a basic preliminary inspection. Kennings is our 'language expert', you know."

"What am I supposed to do with the form, then? Epigram hates getting interrupted... ugh, last time I do _her_ a favor."

"Ask Sonnet or Ballade. They're good with handling these sorts of conundrums."

"Hmm, thanks, I'll do that. Oh, and if Riddle drops by a coffee run, snag a mocha latte for me, alright?"

"Will do. His probationary period is almost over, I believe... maybe next week he'll get renamed with a proper codename! Good luck with your search, Terza-Rima! Now, back to work..."

**.**

**In the Millefiore Prima's Office:**

" 'Ello? Sonnet? Ballade?"

"Over here, Terza-Rima. Ballade's out on an inspection for the Greenhouses... What brings you up here? I might be able to help."

"See, Epigram asked me to hand off a form to Diamante, but Diamante's busy doing something for Pantoum, and Epigram's busy helping Kennings with a decryption. Meanwhile, I've got my own list of things to get done, and I don't know what to do the form. I can't spare any more time; this was a last-minute favor, and my break should've ended 27 seconds ago."

"Which form?"

"Squad transfer request; you know how paranoid Epigram is about them."

"I do indeed. Here, how about this: you leave the form with me, since I'm stuck on desk duty for today's day shift, and I'll forward it to Epigram's mailbox, along with sending her an info-pad alert to pick it up. She dislikes detouring to her mailbox, but I see no reason for her complain if it's a favor she asked of you. How's that work for you?"

"Great, thanks!"

Door opens and closes.

Door opens and closes again.

"Hm-? Triolet? You're back early."

"Acrostic was being an ass, so I left him to finish the kitchen rounds with Ottava-Rima."

"Triolet... you know how much they antagonize each other. Madam Fran is going to put you on probation soon, what with all the negative marks you've been getting recently. Is it trouble with Senryu? You two are so nice together."

"Spare me the lecture. Both of them. I know, I know, dating a coworker only leads to drama and all that... Senryu's just overreacting again. Anyway, got anything for me to do? I have fifteen minutes to burn until my file-cleaning shift with Tanka starts."

"Lucky, huh? Terza-Rima was running an errand for Epigram but ran out of time on her break. Can you ferry this form over to the Human Resources Main Office? Tell them to slip it in Epigram's mailbox."

"S'not like I've much of a choice."

**In the Human Resources Main Office:**

"Oy, Tetra."

"It's Tetr_actys_, Triolet. For what reason must I suffer your presence for today?"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Fuck off a little, would ya? Sonnet just told me to give you this and put it in Epigram's mailbox. From Terza-Rima, in case she asks."

"Hmph. I suppose such a trifle would not be _too_ burdensome of a task."

"Tch. Always all high-and-mighty, ain'tcha now? Just make sure the damned form is sent."

Door slams shut.

Head pops up from underneath a desk a few meters away.

"That wasn't very nice of Violet."

"What the-! Stop hiding under your desk, Tyburn! I swear, you will give a heart-attack one day. And his name isn't Violet."

"Ah, why so sensitive, Aerodactyl? I'd bring very nice flowers to your funeral, though, in case that heart-attack did happen. See, I have a florist booked and everything."

"That's... very creepy and unsettling and not helpful at all, Tyburn. And how does 'Tetractys' sound like 'Aerodactyl'!?"

"Oh. You're right. I shall endeavor to make you feel more comfortable in the future, Cactus."

_"It's not **Cactus** either!"_

"You should not be so fiery-tempered, Cactus. Rage will induce heart-attacks, too."

_"You- I- Grr- Argh- No- **Agghhh-!**"_

"I'm sorry, Cactus, but if that was a marriage proposal, I'm afraid I'll have to decline. You're just not my type. It's you, not me."

Slamming noise.

"That looks painful, Cactus. Whyever would you slam your head onto your desk? It can cause brain damage; you_ must_ take better care of your health. Heart-attacks are very common nowadays among the elderly."

Slam.

Slam.

Slam.

"Oh, dear. I'd better call Miss Fran and tell her that Cactus is self-harming himself. The stress must be getting to him. Or maybe it was the cookies I gave him today. I thought they smelled a little strange, and I made them in the dark, so some of the ingredients may have gotten mixed up... surely nothing poisonous, though, I keep my poisons in the other refrigerator."

.

* * *

**Extra Scene**

**(rules of roles in an ongoing charade are mentioned, and fran has an epiphany about byakuran's hair, but it's so much more than just that):**

"You're... not a marshmallow. Not exactly."

Byakuran raises an eyebrow, mildly intrigued.

His peer always _did_ have such a_ unique_ way of thinking things, wording things.

"Oh? Then what am I? I thought you claimed I was a marshmallow based on my hair color-"

"-and your obsession with them, yes, yes, but that was the and this is now," Fran interrupts, waving her hand in vague distaste, as if to physically dispel those past claims.

She steeples her fingers and eyes him oddly, the teal of her irises glowing _greener_ than usual, intent and strangely focused, vacillating how to interpret him.

Byakuran smiled patiently and waited for her to draw her conclusions, to explain her thoughts, because that was what he did and that was what she did and at the end of the day they both had their roles to play in this charade of comradeship.

"You," she finally decides, flicking out a single index finger, "are a dandelion."

"How so?" he answers, dutifully reciting his destiny-dictated lines.

"A marshmallow is deceptively fluffy. Very sweet and innocent. It inspires a sort of adoring following, with few true haters. When you pinch it, squish it, smash it, it eventually reforms back into itself. Even tearing it apart can be fixed by fitting it's pieces back together, and letting it's natural stickiness conform to each other.

"The finished product won't _look_ the same, but it'll have all it's pieces that total to 100% marshmallow, and after all that, the marshmallow persists. It has not learned anything new, it has not forgotten anything old. It is itself, through the ages, yielding but not breakable, and forever permanent in the way that all atoms are. I used to think you were like that. You aren't. Or, maybe you used to be like that, but you aren't anymore, so I suppose a marshmallow _can_ change.

"A dandelion is also deceptively fluffy. A symbol of childish innocence and cynical wishes, all mashed up together in a grown-up, wistful remembrance. The stubbornest, most well-liked weed, it is nevertheless a parasitic being sowing it's seeds and draining resources from where it lands and manages to scrape out a survival. Hardy and widespread, it's influence sneaks in, blends in, until it blooms and can't be ripped up without dozens more sprouting in it's place.

"Some people find beauty in it, and love it. Some find destruction in it, and hate it. Followers and enemies and the rare ally are it's tools, carrying out the orders of the immovable dandelion. When attacked, it merely disperses into the four winds to disappear elsewhere and begin the process of regeneration all over again, instincts refusing to let it give up on the cycle. It is virtually impossible to find every seedling and try to restore it's whole; even if mostly done, the seeds will not stay in shape, for they have tasted freedom, have seen worlds, have already been cut from their former bonds, and _can't_ be the same anymore.

"Parts of it will forever be drifting in places unknown, and thus the dandelion would have lost pieces of itself. New pieces will eventually be grown from those lost pieces, only to scatter and start all over again, undeniably persistent in their survival. The dandelion changes like that, constantly changing, learning new tricks and forgetting irrelevant old ones, although the effects may not be visible in short-term, and it is forever permanent in the way that mulish determination and subtle power is permanent.

"You are a dandelion, not a marshmallow."

She finishes her musings and watches his reaction, listens to his reply.

"... You aren't melted glass, you're a radio without a remote."

He doesn't explain further, because, really, despite popular belief, Byakuran explains much less than Fran.

Byakuran isn't smiling anyway, he is looking serious, before he remembers himself and pulls up his mask to play his proper part.

That is his role.

Fran looks at Byakuran, Byakuran look at Fran.

She accepts it, that is _her_ role, it is her invisible script.

The moment is over and they move on.

* * *

_**#**_

_**#**_

_**#**_

_**Double-update as an apology for a lack of any real plot-update. These two chapters were a bunch of stuff I saved up while (excruciatingly, procrastingly) revising 'Replacement'.**_

_**Captains and secretaries get some screen time and life. Tyburn is my favorite secretary to write. Tetractys is fun to write as well, because he's that stuffy old vaguely British-sounding stuck-up codger that sniffs daintily and comments on the rambunctious youth of today. Like Triolet, who he hates.**_

_**Also, dialogue is so much easier to write than actual description. So yeah. Okay then.**_

_**I have no idea what happened to the 'Winter' drabble. It's probably kinda OOC, too, depending on how you see it. **_

_**If you'd like some basic descriptions (a basic profile, actually) on the OCs, or even just a clarification on the genders or Cervello-status of the various secretaries, please include that in a review. I wasn't sure if you guys wanted to know; for all I know, you despise the OCs and just want to get on with the freakin' plot already. Or both.**_

_**Just as a count:**_

**There are 22 secretaries, I think.**

**Kyrielle was not mentioned: he greatly resents his 'feminine' name.**

**Epic was not mentioned: she greatly resents her name, which is ripe for abusing with horrid puns.**

**Out of the 22 secretaries, 12 are Cervello, 10 aren't. 6 of the 10 just sometimes wear pink wigs and pretend to be Cervello, in order to mess with the non-secretary Millefiorians.**

**So Byakuran's stats of '95%' are wrong.**

**And yes, I know I stated earlier that all of Fran's secretaries are Cervello...**

**But that was in the early chapters; she went recruiting for non-biased, totally neutral and reasonably loyal 'new blood' later on, when they were stabilized, and had enough resources to spare on a pet project like that.**

**Out of the 22 secretaries, 15 are female, 7 aren't.**

**Riddle is a he, but he's also an 'intern' of sorts, who is being tested to see if he's cleared for full-secretarial status, and thus doesn't count as one of the 22.**

**That is all.**

_**#**_

_**#**_

_**~Please Review.~**_

_**~I love reviews slightly less than I love ramen and udon, and considering I hate spicy food but would gladly eat a bowl of spicy noodles, that's still a pretty great love for reviews. And this may or may not be because I'm running out of KHR!related comparisons.~**_


End file.
